THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


MAJESTY 


THE  WORKS  OF  LOUIS  COUPERUS 

Translated  by 
ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS 

THE  BOOKS  OF  THE  SMALL  SOULS 
I.    SMALL  SOULS 
II.    THE  LATER  LIFE 

III.  THE  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  SOULS 

IV.  DR.  ADRIAAN 

Also 

OLD  PEOPLE  AND  THE  THINGS  THAT  PASS 
ECSTASY 
THE  TOUR 
THE  INEVITABLE 
MAJESTY 


MAJESTY 

A  NOVEL 


BY 

LOUIS  COUPERUS 


NEWLY  TRANSLATED  BY 

ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS 


WITH  A  PREFACE  BY 

STEPHEN  McKENNA 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921, 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


FT 


PREFACE 

The  betting-book  in  one  of  London's  oldest  and 
most  famous  clubs  contains  a  wager,  with  odds  laid 
at  one  hundred  sovereigns  to  ten,  that  "  within  five 
years  there  will  not  remain  two  crowned  heads  in 
Europe."  The  condition — "in  the  event  of  war 
between  Great  Britain  and  Germany  " —  was  im- 
posed by  the  date  of  the  wager,  for  one  member  was 
venturing  his  hundred  to  ten  at  a  moment  when  an- 
other was  dining  with  him  to  kill  time  before  the 
British  prime  minister's  ultimatum  took  effect:  the 
imperial  German  government  had  to  deliver  its  reply 
before  midnight,  by  Greenwich  time,  or  eleven 
o'clock,  by  Central  European  reckoning. 

Since  the  fourth  of  August,  1914,  the  King  of  the 
Hellenes,  the  Czar  of  Bulgaria,  the  Emperor-King 
of  Austria-Hungary,  the  German  Kaiser  and  a  host 
of  smaller  princes  have  abdicated  and  sought  asylum 
in  countries  left  neutral  by  the  war;  the  Czar  of  All 
the  Russias  also  abdicated,  but  was  executed  without 
an  opportunity  of  escape.  Thus,  though  republican 
and  royalist  may  protest  that  the  wager  was  too  san- 
guine or  too  pessimistic,  the  challenger  must  have 
taken  credit  for  his  prescience,  as  three  of  the  great 
powers  and  two  of  the  lesser  converted,  one  after 
another,  their  half-divine  soveran  into  their  wholly 
material  scapegoat;  by  no  great  special  pleading  he 
might  claim  that  the  bet  was  won  in  spirit  if  not  in 
fact  when  the  morning  of  Armistice  Day  shewed 
monarchy  surviving  only  in  Spain,  Italy,  Roumania 
and  Greece,  in  the  small  liberal  kingdoms  of  Scandi- 


vi  PREFACE 

navia  and  the  Netherlands,  in  the  minute  principality 
of  Monaco,  in  the  crowned  republic  of  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland  and  in  the  eternal  anachronism  of  the 
Ottoman  Empire.  And  the  time-limit  of  five  years 
had  been  exceeded  by  only  three  months. 

In  the  peaceful  period,  four  times  longer,  between 
the  publication  of  Majesty  in  1894  and  the  outbreak 
of  the  Great  War,  historians  were  kept  hardly  less 
busy  with  their  record  of  fallen  monarchs  and  ex- 
tinguished dynasties:  King  Humbert  of  Italy  was 
assassinated  in  1900;  King  Alexander  of  Servia,  with 
his  queen,  in  1903;  King  Carlos  of  Portugal,  with 
the  heir-apparent,  in  1908;  and  the  Sultan  Abdul 
Hamid  was  deposed  and  imprisoned  in  1909.  Be- 
fore the  year  1894  no  ruler  of  note  had  removed 
himself  or  been  removed  since  the  assassination  of 
the  Czar  Alexander  II  in  1881;  this  study  of  "ma- 
jesty" in  its  strength  and,  still  more,  in  its  weakness 
was  published  at  a  time  when  even  the  autocrat  was 
more  secure  on  his  throne  than  at  any  period  since 
"  the  year  of  revolution,"  1848. 

If  Majesty  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  roman  a  clef, 
there  is  a  temptation,  after  six  and  twenty  years,  to 
call  Couperus  'prophetic;'  to  call  him  that  and 
nothing  else  is  to  turn  blind  eyes  to  the  intuitive  un- 
derstanding which  is  more  precious  than  divination, 
to  ignore,  in  one  book,  the  insight  which  illumines 
all  and  to  overlook  the  quality  which,  among  all  the 
chronicles  of  kings,  penetrates  beyond  romance  and 
makes  of  Majesty  an  essay  in  human  psychology. 
So  lone:  as  the  fairy-tales  of  childhood  are  woven 
about  handsome  princes  and  the  fair-haired  daugh- 
ters of  kings,  there  is  no  danger  that  the  setting  of 


PREFACE  vii 

royalty  will  ever  lose  its  glamour;  so  long  as  "  ro- 
mantic "  means  primarily  that  which  is  "strange," 
the  writer  of  romance  may  bind  his  spell  on  all  to 
whom  kings'  houses  and  queens'  gardens  are  an  un- 
familiar world;  so  long  as  the  picturesque  and  tradi- 
tional hold  sway,  the  sanction  and  titles  of  kingship, 
the  dignities  and  the  procedure,  the  inhibitions  and 
aloofness  of  royalty  will  fascinate,  whether  they  like 
it  or  not,  all  those  in  whose  veins  there  is  no  "  golden 
drop  "  of  blood  royal.  A  romance  of  kingship, 
alike  in  the  hands  of  dramatist,  melodramatist  and 
sycophant,  is  certain  of  commercial  success. 

The  strength  of  this  temptation  is  to  be  measured 
by  the  number  of  novels  written  round  the  triumphs 
and  intrigues  of  kings,  their  amours  and  tragedies, 
their  conflicts  and  disasters:  King  Cophetua  and 
"  King  Sun,"  Prince  Hal  and  Richard  the  Second, 
Louis  the  Eleventh  and  Charles  the  First,  a  king  in 
hiding,  a  king  in  exile,  a  king  in  disguise;  so  long  as 
he  is  a  king,  he  is  a  safe  investment  for  the  romantic 
writer.  But  the  weakness  of  those  who  succumB 
to  this  temptation  is  to  be  measured  by  their  failure 
to  make  kings  live  in  literature.  Those  few  who 
survive  beyond  the  brief  term  of  ephemeral  popu- 
larity survive  more  by  reason  of  their  office  than  of 
themselves  and  Jan  de  Witt  makes  little  show  beside 
Louis  the  Sixteenth;  their  robes  are  of  so  much 
greater  account  than  their  persons  that  the  feeblest 
German  prince  cuts  a  more  imposing  figure  than  the 
strongest  president  of  the  Swiss  Confederation. 

Those  who  stand  out  in  despite  of  their  romantic 
setting,  the  human,  perplexed  Hamlets  and  vacil- 
lating, remorseful  Richards,  are  inevitably  few;  and 


viii  PREFACE 

few  they  are  likely  to  remain  so  long  as  the  frame 
outshines  the  picture  and  the  prince  is  labelled  and 
left  a  celestial  being  apart,  or  labelled  and  dragged 
into  passing  sentimental  contrast  with  men  less  ex- 
alted; it  would  seem  that  to  regard  a  king  first  as  a 
man  and  afterwards  as  an  hereditary  office-holder 
was  to  waste  his  romantic  possibilities.  This,  never- 
theless, is  what  Couperus  has  set  himself  to  do  in 
Majesty;  he  presents  his  family  of  kings  as  a  branch 
of  the  human  family;  their  dignity  ceases  to  be  stupe- 
fying when  all  are  equally  high-born;  they  wear 
their  uniforms  and  robes  as  other  men  wear  the 
conventional  clothes  of  their  trade;  and,  stripping 
them  of  their  titles  and  decorations,  he  paints  his 
group  of  men  and  women  who  have  been  born  to 
rule,  as  others  are  born  to  till  the  soil;  to  marry 
for  love  or  reasons  of  state,  as  others  marry  for 
love  or  reasons  of  convenience;  to  experience  such 
emotions  as  are  common  to  all  men  and  to  face  the 
special  duties  and  dangers  apportioned  to  their  caste 
by  the  organization  of  society: 

".  .  .  The  Gothlandic  family,"  says  Couperus> 
".  .  .  lived  [at  Altseeborgen\  for  four  months, 
without  palace-etiquette,  in  the  greatest  simplicity. 
They  formed  a  numerous  family  and  there  were  al- 
ways many  visitors.  The  king  attended  to  state 
affairs  in  homely  fashion  at  the  castle.  His  grand- 
children would  run  into  his  room  while  he  was  dis- 
cussing important  business  with  the  prime  minister. 
.  .  .  He  just  patted  their  flaxen  curls  and  sent  them 
away  to  play,  with  a  caress.  .  .  .  From  all  the 
courts  of  Europe,  which  were  as  one  great  family, 
different  members  came  from  time  to  time  to  stay, 


PREFACE  ix 

bringing  with  them  the  irrespective  nuances  of  dif- 
ferent nationality,  something  exotic  in  accent  and 
moral  ideas,  so  far  as  this  was  not  merged  in  their 
cosmopolitanism." 

To  this  "  one  great  family  "  the  organization  of 
society  apportioned  with  one  hand  special  privileges 
and  exemptions,  with  the  other  special  hardships 
and  dangers.  Revolution,  to  these  professional  rul- 
ers, was  what  successful  trade  rivalry  is  to  a  store- 
keeper ;  assassination  was  a  daily  risk  to  which  store- 
keepers are  commonly  not  exposed : 

".  .  .  Such  is  the  life  of  rulers:  the  emperor  lay 
dead,  killed  by  a  simple  "pistol-shot;  and  the  court 
chamberlain  was  very  busy,  the  masters  of  cere- 
monies unable  to  agree;  the  pomp  of  an  imperial 
funeral  was  prepared  in  all  its  intricacy;  through  all 
Europe  sped  the  after-shudder  of  fright;  every 
newspaper  was  filled  with  telegrams  and  long 
articles.  .  .  . 

"  All  this  was  because  of  one  shot  from  a  fanatic, 
a  martyr  for  the  people's  rights. 

"  The  Empress  Elizabeth  stared  with  wide-open 
eyes  at  the  fate  that  had  overtaken  her.  Not  thus 
had  she  ever  pictured  to  herself  that  it  would  come, 
thus,  so  rudely,  in  the  midst  of  that  festivity  and  in 
the  presence  of  their  royal  guest.  .  .  ." 

It  is  to  be  understood,  none  the  less,  that  she  had 
always  expected  it  to  come :  assassination  is  one  of 
the  special  risks  attaching  to  majesty  at  all  times 
when  one  form  of  kingship  or  the  whole  institution 
of  kings  is  debated  and  criticized.  "  When  the  in- 
tellectual developments  or  culture  of  a  race,"  wrote 
Heine,  in  The  Citizen  Kingdom  in  1832,  "  cease  to 


x  PREFACE 

accord  with  its  old  established  institutions,  the  ne- 
cessary result  is  a  combat  in  which  the  latter  are 
overthrown.  This  is  called  a  revolution.  Until 
this  revolution  is  complete,  so  long  as  the  reform 
of  these  institutions  does  not  agree  at  all  points  with 
the  intellectual  development,  the  habits  and  the 
wants  of  the  people,  during  this  period  the  national 
malady  is  not  wholly  cured  and  the  ailing  and  agi- 
tated people  will  often  relapse  into  the  weakness 
of  exhaustion  and  at  times  be  subject  to  fits  of  burn- 
ing fever.  When  this  fever  is  upon  them,  they  tear 
the  lightest  bandages  and  the  most  healing  lint  from 
their  old  wounds,  throw  the  most  benevolent  and 
noble-hearted  nurses  out  of  window  and  themselves 
roll  about  in  agony,  until  at  length  they  find  them- 
selves in  circumstances  or  adapt  themselves  to  in- 
stitutions that  suit  them  better." 

So  much  for  the  race,  in  the  gripe  of  growing- 
pains;  but  what  of  the  nurses?  How  little  benevo- 
lent or  noble-hearted  soever  they  be,  nurses  are 
bound  by  the  honour  of  their  profession  and  by 
personal  pride  not  to  forsake  their  patients.  In 
one  passage  of  Majesty  the  crown-prince  is  shaken 
by  fundamental  doubts  of  his  own  inherited  right  to 
rule;  he  questions  and  analyses  until  he  is  brought  to 
heel  by  his  imperial  father  who  remembers  that  an 
excess  of  "  victorious  analysis  "  rotted  the  intellect- 
ual foundations  of  the  old  order  and  prepared  the 
way  for  the  logical  French  revolution.  In  another 
passage  the  boy  realizes  without  any  qualification 
that  he  at  least  is  unfitted  for  the  burthen  of  empire 
and  that  it  is  better  to  abdicate  in  favour  of  his 
brother  or  to  commit  suicide  than  to  play  Atlas 


PREFACE  xi 

with  a  world  that  he  cannot  sustain;  once  more,  his 
imperial  father  silences  any  admission  that  his  own 
flesh  and  blood  can  be  too  degenerate  for  the  task 
of  majesty.  And  so,  at  the  moral  sword-point, 
this  hereditary  nurse  is  held  to  the  duty  and  privi- 
lege of  standing  by  an  hereditary  patient  whom  he 
cannot  relieve  with  "  the  most  healing  lint  "  and 
who  may  at  any  moment  throw  him  out  of  window. 

Not  even  in  thought  may  majesty  abdicate:  a 
prince  inherits  his  philosophy  as  he  inherits  his  title. 

"  Life  is  so  simple,"  proclaims  the  collectivist 
Zanti. 

"  '  As  you  picture  it,  but  not  in  reality,'  objected 
Herman. 

"  Zanti  looked  at  kirn  angrily,  stopped  still,  to  be 
able  to  talk  with  greater  ease,  and,  passionately, 
violently,  exclaimed: 

"  '  And  do  you  in  reality  find  it  better  than  I  pict- 
ure it?  I  do  not,  sir,  and  I  hope  to  turn  my  picture 
into  reality.  You  and  yours  once,  ages  ago,  made 
your  picture  reality;  now  it  is  the  turn  of  us  others: 
your  reality  has  lasted  long  enough.  .  .  .' 

"  Othomar,  haughtily,  tried  to  say  something  in 
contradiction;  the  old  man,  however,  suddenly 
turned  to  him  and,  gently  though  roughly,  with  his 
penetrating,  fanatical  voice  which  made  Othomar 
shudder: 

'For  you,  sir,  I  feel  pity!  .  .  .  Do  you  know 
why?  Because  the  time  will  come!  .  .  .  The  hour 
will  come.  Perhaps  it  is  very  near.  If  it  does  not 
come  in  your  father's  reign,  it  will  come  in  your 
reign  or  your  son's.  But  come  it  will!  And  there- 
fore I  feel  pity  for  you.  For  you  will  not  have 


xii  PREFACE 

enough  love  for  your  people.  Not  enough  love  to 
say  to  them,  "  I  am  as  all  of  you  and  nothing  more. 
I  will  possess  no  more  than  any  of  you,  for  I  do  not 
want  abundance  while  you  suffer  need.  I  will  not 
rule  over  you,  for  I  am  only  a  human  being  like 
yourselves  and  no  more  human  than  you."  Are  you 
more  humanf  If  you  were  more,  then  you  would 
be  entitled  to  rule,  yes,  then,  then.  .  .  .  See  here, 
young  man,  you  will  never  have  so  much  love  for 
your  people  as  to  do  all  this,  oh,  and  more  still  and 
more!  You  will  govern  and  possess  abundance  and 
wage  war.  But  the  time  will  come!  Therefore  I 
have  pity  for  you  .  .  .  although  I  oughtn't  to!' 

The  dead  weight  of  inheritance,  always  a  psycho- 
logical fascination  for  Couperus,  becomes  doubly 
fascinating  when  one  generation  after  another  in- 
herits an  undwindling  legacy  of  divine,  ironic  whim. 
As,  in  The  Books  of  the  Small  Souls  and  in  Old 
People  and  the  Things  that  Pass,  the  children  and 
grandchildren  are  born  with  minds  tainted  by  pre- 
natal memories,  so,  in  Majesty,  a  prenatal  influence 
has  ordered  the  life  and  determined  the  fate  of  an 
infant  who  first  draws  breath  as  Count  of  Lycilia, 
eldest  son  of  the  Duke  of  Xara,  himself  crown-prince 
and  eldest  son  of  the  Emperor  of  Liparia.  There 
is  no  escape,  no  lack  of  heirs  to  the  ironic  inheritance : 
"  '  //  it's  a  son' "  says  the  empress  mother,  on  the 
morrow  of  her  husband's  assassination,  "  '  it  will  be 
a  Duke  of  Xara.  .  .  / 

"  And  then  the  Emperor  of  Liparia  .  .  .  lost  his 
self-restraint.  In  one  lightning-flash,  one  zig-zag 
of  terror,  he  saw  again  his  life  as  crown-prince,  he 
thought  of  his  unborn  son.  What  would  become  of 


PREFACE  xiii 

this  child  of  fate?  Would  it  be  a  repetition  of  him- 
self, of  his  hesitation,  his  melancholy  and  his 
despair?  .  .  ." 

It  Majesty  be  a  roman  a  clef,  "  this  child  of  fate," 
with  his  father  and  mother  and  sisters,  had  his 
short  spell  of  hesitation,  melancholv  and  despair 
ended  in  1918  by  the  revolver-shots  of  his  gaolers. 
If  Othomar  be  not  a  portrait  of  the  Czar  Nicolas  II., 
it  is  hard  to  believe  that  the  character  was  not  sug- 
gested by  him;  though  the  Czar  Alexander  III.  died 
a  natural  death,  he  would  seem  to  have  supplied  a 
parallel  for  the  Emperor  Oscar,  as  Alexander  II. 
supplied  one  for  the  liberal  emperor,  Othomar  XL 
The  fanatical  Zanti  has  his  model  in  Count  Tolstoi ; 
and  even  the  tragic  romance  of  Prince  von  Lohe- 
Obkowitz  has  its  historical  counterpart. 

But  the  interest  and  value  of  the  book  do  not 
lie  in  any  fancied  resemblance,  among  the  characters, 
to  living  or  dead  kings ;  the  study  of  Prince  Othomar 
does  not  depend  on  any  likeness  to  the  Czar  Nicolas 
II. ;  Couperus  succeeds  or  fails  not  as  a  court  painter, 
but  as  a  great  sympathetic  and  imaginative  artist 
who  does  or  does  not  create,  in  the  unfamiliar  atmos- 
phere of  a  court,  first  the  collective  life  and  spirit 
of  a  caste  long  trained  to  formalize  its  life  and 
suppress  its  emotions,  then  a  group  of  human  char- 
acters who  stand  out  compelling  and  vital  against 
the  posturing,  shadowy  kings  and  queens  of  romance. 

To  the  composition  of  Majesty  go  the  under- 
standing and  the  historic  sense,  the  irony  and  ten- 
derness that  enable  Couperus  in  later  books  to  draw 
with  unfaltering  touch  his  exquisite  portraits  of  old 
age  and  youth,  of  men  and  women,  in  their  moments 


xiv  PREFACE 

of  solitude  and  in  their  reactions  upon  one  another. 
Few  men  have  stepped  so  lightly  and  surely  across 
the  confines  of  the  centuries  and  the  continents;  his 
intuition  makes  him  equally  at  home  in  Alexandria 
and  the  Hague,  with  women  and  men,  in  the  second 
century  and  in  the  twentieth ;  and  it  is  not  benumbed 
by  the  surface  inhumanity  of  a  court.  When  the 
Archduchess  Valerie  had  lost  her  lover,  the  crown- 
prince  could  not  understand  her  being  able  to  talk 
as  usual  at  dinner. 

"  //  irritated  him,  his  want  of  penetration  of  the 
human  heart:  how  could  he  develop  it?  A  future 
ruler  ought  to  be  able  to  see  things  at  a  single 
glance.  .  .  .  And  suddenly,  perhaps  merely  be- 
cause of  his  desire  for  human  knowledge,  the  thought 
arose  within  him  that  she  was  concealing  her  emo- 
tions, that  perhaps  she  was  still  suffering  intensely, 
but  that  she  was  pretending  and  bearing  up:  was  she 
not  a  princess  of  the  blood?  They  all  learnt  that, 
they  of  the  blood,  to  pretend,  to  bear  up!  It  was 
bred  in  their  bones." 

Perhaps  it  was  bred  in  his  bones,  perhaps  it  was 
his  mere  desire  for  human  knowledge  that  gave 
Couperus  his  penetration  into  the  emotions  which 
they  of  the  blood  were  taught  to  conceal.  In  none 
of  his  books  has  he  lavished  more  sympathy  than 
in  his  painting  of  Prince  Othomar's  vacillation  and 
passionate  good-will,  his  timidity  and  desperate 
courage;  nowhere  has  he  used  greater  tenderness 
than  in  his  sketch  of  the  chivalry  and  gratitude 
which  did  duty  for  love  in  the  passionless  union  of 
Valerie  and  the  crown-prince. 

STEPHEN  MC-KENNA. 
LINCOLN'S  INN,  LONDON,  7  October,  1920. 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE 

My  first  translation  of  Majesty  was  written  in 
collaboration  with  my  dear  friend  Ernest  Dowson 
and  published  in  the  year  1895.  A  small  edition 
was  sold  by  the  London  publisher  to  Messrs.  D. 
Appleton  &  Company  and  has  long  been  out  of 
print.  Messrs.  Appleton,  with  characteristic  ge- 
nerosity, have  relinquished  to  the  present  publishers 
any  copyright  which  they  had  established  in  the 
book  and  have  thus  enabled  me  to  produce  this 
new  version.  For  even  a  translator's  style  under- 
goes notable  modifications  in  a  quarter  of  a  century; 
and  I  should  not  have  been  satisfied  to  see  this  novel 
reissued  in  its  earlier  English  form.  The  story 
should  not  therefore  be  regarded  as  a  mere  reprint. 

Incidentally,  when  collating  the  old  Teixeira- 
Dowson  version  with  the  original,  I  was  struck 
with  the  chaste  and  discreet  appearance  of  the 
Dutch  as  compared  with  the  English  edition,  soiled 
as  the  latter  was  on  every  page  with  a  splash  of 
capital  letters.  Is  it  some  innate  snobbery  or 
merely  lack  of  intelligence  or  thought  that  induces 
English  writers  —  and  for  long  myself  among  them 
—  to  dab  a  capital  at  the  head  of  such  nouns  as  the 
"  emperor,"  the  "  crown-prince,"  the  "  duke,"  the 
"  chancellor;"  "  empire  "  and  "  state,"  nay,  even  the 
"  major,"  the  "  professor,"  the  "  doctor,"  or  of 
such  adjectives  as  "royal"  and  "imperial"?  If 

XT 


xvi  TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE 

we  are  to  write  of  the  "  Major  "  and  the  "  Profes- 
sor," why  not  be  still  more  lavish  with  our  capitals 
and  write  of  the  "  Midshipman,"  the  "  Postmis- 
tress "  and  the  "  Postman  "?  Anyhow,  I  felt  that 
a  suitable  time  had  come  to  experiment  with  an  in- 
novation and  I  decided  to  reduce  my  capital  letters 
to  a  minimum  and  to  affix  them  to  titles  only  when 
these  were  followed  by  the  name.  Even  the  Ger- 
mans do  not  distinguish  their  titles  with  capitals; 
they  have  the  more  logical  habit  of  beginning  every 
substantive  with  a  capital;  and,  in  their  murky  lan- 
guage, this  habit  has  one  advantage,  that  it  assists 
the  reader  to  hunt  the  elusive  verbs  to  their  lair. 
The  English  have  not  this  reason  nor  this  excuse. 

My  thanks  are  due  not  only  to  Messrs.  Appleton 
but  also  to  Mr.  Stephen  McKenna,  the  most  ac- 
ceptable of  our  younger  novelists,  who  in  his  ad- 
miration for  the  elder  craftsman,  has  volunteered 
to  write  a  preface  to  Louis  Couperus'  present  mas- 
terpiece. 

ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS. 

VEJJTNOR,  I.  W.,  i  November,  1920. 


MAJESTY 


MAJESTY 

CHAPTER  I 


LIPARA,  usually  a  city  white  as  marble :  long,  white 
rows  of  villas  on  a  southern  blue  sea;  endless,  ele- 
gant esplanades  on  the  front,  with  palms  whose 
green  lacquer  shimmered  against  an  atmosphere  of 
vivid  blue  ether.  But  to-day  there  drifted  above  it, 
heavily,  a  sombre,  grey  sky,  fraught  with  storm  and 
tragedy,  like  a  leviathan  in  the  firmament.  And 
this  grey  sky  was  full  of  mystery,  full  of  destiny,  of 
strange  destiny:  it  precipitated  no  thunder,  but  re- 
mained hanging  over  the  city,  merely  casting  faint 
shadows  over  the  brightness  of  its  palaces,  over  the 
width  of  its  squares  and  streets,  over  the  blue  of  its 
sea,  its  harbour,  where  the  ships,  upright,  still,  anx- 
ious, raised  their  tall  masts  on  high. 

White,  square,  massive,  amid  the  verdure  of  the 
Elizabeth  Parks,  in  the  more  intimate  mystery  of 
its  own  great  plane-trees  —  the  celebrated  plane- 
trees  of  Lipara,  world-famed  trees  —  stood  the  Im- 
perial, the  emperor's  palace,  quasi-Moorish,  with 
white,  pointed  arcades:  it  stood  as  the  civic  crown 
of  the  capital,  one  great  architectural  jewel,  sepa- 
rated from  the  city,  though  standing  in  its  very  midst, 
by  all  that  park-like  verdure. 

The  empress,  Elizabeth  of  Liparia,  sat  in  the 

i 


2  MAJESTY 

private  drawing-room  of  her  apartments  in  the  right 
wing;  she  sat  with  a  lady-in-waiting,  the  Countess 
Helene  of  Thesbia.  The  windows  were  open ;  they 
opened  on  the  park;  the  famous  plane-trees  rose 
there,  knotty  with  age,  wide-spreading,  anxious,  mo- 
tionless with  their  trimmed  leaves,  between  which  a 
dull-green  twilight  shimmered  upon  the  lawns  which 
ran  into  the  distance,  rolling  softly  and  smoothly, 
like  tight-stretched  velvet,  into  an  endless  violet 
vista,  with  just  here  or  there  the  one  strident  white 
patch  of  a  statue. 

A  great  silence  buzzed  its  strange  sound  of  still- 
ness indoors  from  the  park;  it  buzzed  around  the  em- 
press. She  sat  smiling;  she  listened  to  Helene  read- 
ing aloud;  she  tried  to  listen,  she  did  not  always 
understand.  A  nervous  dread  haunted  her,  sur- 
rounded her,  as  with  an  invisible  net  of  meshes, 
unbreakable.  This  dread  was  for  her  husband,  her 
children,  her  elder  son,  her  daughters,  her  younger 
boy.  This  dread  crept  along  the  carpet  beneath 
her  feet;  it  hung  from  the  ceiling  above  her  head, 
stole  round  about  her  through  the  whole  room. 
This  dread  was  in  the  park:  it  came  from  afar, 
from  the  violet  vistas;  it  swept  over  the  lawns  and 
climbed  in  through  the  open  windows;  it  fell  from 
the  trees,  it  fell  from  the  sky,  the  grey,  thunder- 
laden  sky.  This  dread  trembled  through  Liparia, 
through  the  whole  of  Liparia,  through  the  whole 
empire ;  it  trembled  in,  in  to  the  empress,  enveloping 
her  whole  being.  .  .  . 

Then  Elizabeth  drew  a  deep  breath  and  smiled. 
Helene  had  looked  up  to  her  at  a  certain  sentence 
with  a  light  stress  of  voice  and  eyes,  pointing  the 


MAJESTY  3 

dialogue  of  the  novel;  this  made  the  empress  smile 
and  she  listened  afresh.  The  anxiety  smouldered 
in  her,  but  she  extinguished  it  with  abounding  ac- 
quiescence, acquiescence  in  what  was  to  happen,  in 
what  must  happen. 

The  novel  which  Helene  was  reading  was  Daniele 
Cortis,  a  work  that  was  in  vogue  at  court  because 
the  Princess  Thera  had  liked  it.  The  countess  read 
carefully  and  with  great  expression;  the  rhythm 
of  the  Italian  came  from  her  lips  with  the  elegance 
of  very  pointed  Venetian  glass,  flowery  and  trans- 
parent. And  the  empress  wondered  that  Helene 
could  read  so  beautifully  and  that  she  did  not  seem 
to  feel  the  anxiety  which  nevertheless  stole  about 
everywhere,  like  a  spectre. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door  leading  from  the 
anteroom;  a  flunkey  opened  the  door;  a  lady-in- 
waiting  appeared  between  the  hangings  and  curt- 
seyed : 

"  His  highness  Prince  Herman,"  she  announced 
in  a  voice  that  hesitated  a  little,  as  though  she  knew 
that  this  hour  of  the  afternoon  was  almost  sacred 
to  the  empress. 

"  Ask  the  prince  to  come  in,"  replied  the  empress: 
her  voice,  with  all  its  haughtiness,  sounded  kind  and 
attractive  and  sympathetic.  "  We  have  been  ex- 
pecting the  prince  so  long.  .  .  ." 

The  door  remained  open,  the  lady-in-waiting  dis- 
appeared, the  flunkey  waited  at  the  hangings,  mo- 
tionless, for  the  prince  to  come.  His  firm  tread 
sounded,  approaching  quickly,  through  the  ante- 
room; and  he  made  a  pleasant  entrance,  with  friend- 
liness in  his  healthy,  red  face  and  the  joy  of  meeting 


4  MAJESTY 

in  his  large  grey  eyes,  with  their  gleaming  black 
pupils.  The  flunkey  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"Aunt!" 

The  prince  stepped  towards  the  empress  with 
both  hands  outstretched.  She  had  risen,  as  had 
Helene,  and  she  moved  a  step  towards  him;  she 
took  his  two  hands  and  allowed  him  to  kiss  her 
heartily  on  both  cheeks. 

Helene  curtseyed. 

"  Countess  of  Thesbia,"  said  the  prince,  bowing. 

"So  you  have  come  at  last!  "  said  the  empress, 
with  jesting  discontent.  She  shook  her  head,  but 
could  not  but  look  kindly  at  his  pleasant,  handsome, 
healthy  face.  "  Why  did  you  not  telegraph  for 
certain  when  you  were  coming?  Then  Othomar 
would  have  gone  to  the  station,  but  now  .  .  ." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  a  smile  of  regret, 
as  much  as  to  say  that  now  it  could  not  be  helped 
that  his  reception  had  only  been  tel  quel.  .  .  . 

"  But,  aunt,"  said  Herman  —  the  tone  of  his 
voice  implied  that  he  would  never  have  demanded 
this  of  Othomar  — "  I  have  been  excellently  re- 
ceived: General  Ducardi,  Leoni,  Fasti,  our  worthy 
minister  and  Siridsen  .  .  ." 

"  Othomar  will  be  sorry  all  the  same,"  said  the 
empress.  u  He  is  out  driving  now  with  Thera. 
Thera  is  driving  her  new  bays.  I  can't  understand 
why  they  went;  it  is  sure  to  rain!  " 

The  empress  resumed  her  seat,  with  an  anxious 
look  at  the  weather  outside;  the  prince  and  Helene 
likewise  sat  down.  A  cross-fire  of  enquiries  after 
the  two  families  was  kindled  between  the  empress 
and  her  nephew;  they  had  not  seen  each  other  for 


MAJESTY  5 

months.  There  was  much  to  be  discussed;  the  times 
were  full  of  disaster;  and  the  empress  showed  a  long 
telegram  which  the  emperor  had  sent  from  Altara 
about  the  inundations.  Her  fingers  shook  as  they 
held  the  message. 

She  was  still  a  woman  of  remarkable  beauty,  in 
spite  of  her  grown-up  children.  But  the  charm  of 
her  beauty  was  apparent  to  very  few.  In  public 
that  beauty  acquired  a  hardness  as  of  a  cameo: 
fine,  clear-cut  lines;  great,  cold,  brown  eyes,  without 
expression;  a  cold,  closed  mouth;  before  people  her 
slender  figure  assumed  something  stiff  and  auto- 
matic; she  even  showed  herself  thus  before  the 
more  intimate  circles  of  the  court.  But  when  she 
was  seen,  as  now,  in  the  seclusion  of  her  own  draw- 
ing-room, with  no  one  except  her  nephew,  whom  she 
loved  almost  as  much  as  her  own  children,  and  one 
little  lady-in-waiting  whom  she  spoilt,  then,  in  spite 
of  the  dread  which  she  repressed  deep  down  in  her 
heart,  she  became  another  woman.  In  her  simple 
grey  silk  —  she  was  in  slight  mourning  for  a  rela- 
tion —  what  was  stiff  and  automatic  in  her  figure 
changed  into  a  gracious  suppleness  of  carriage  and 
movement,  as  spontaneous  as  the  other  was  studied; 
the  cameo  of  her  face  became  animated;  a  look 
almost  of  melancholy  came  into  her  eyes;  and, 
above  all,  a  laugh  about  that  cold,  hard  mouth  was 
as  a  gleam  of  sympathy  that  rendered  her  unrecog- 
nizable to  one  who  had  seen  her  for  the  first  time 
cold,  stiff  and  austere. 

Prince  Herman  of  Gothland  was  the  second  son 
of  her  sister,  the  Queen  of  Gothland.  A  tall, 
sturdy  lad  in  his  undress  uniform  as  a  naval  lieu- 


6  MAJESTY 

tenant,  with  the  healthy,  Teutonic  fairness  of  the 
house  of  Gothland:  a  firm  neck,  broad  shoulders, 
the   swelling  chest   of   an   athlete,   the   determined 
quickness  of  movement  of  a  lively  nature,  more  than 
sufficient  intelligence  in  his  large  grey  eyes  with  the 
black  pupils  and  with  now  and  then  a  single  pleasant, 
soft  note  in  his  baritone  voice,  a  note  that  caused  a 
momentary   slight   surprise   and   rendered   him   at- 
tractive when  it  sounded  gently  in  the  midst  of  his 
virility.     And  now  that  he  sat  there,  easily,  simply, 
pleasantly  and  yet  with  a  certain  dignity  that  did 
not  permit  him  an  absolute  excess  of  joviality;  now 
that  he  spoke,  with  his  sweet  voice,  of  his  father,  his 
mother,  his  brothers  and  sisters   and   asked   after 
his  uncle,   the  Emperor  Oscar  of  Liparia,   asked 
after  Othomar,  Thera:  now,  yes,  now  he  aroused 
in  the  empress  a  delicate  feeling  of  family  affection, 
something  of  a  secret  bond  of  blood,  a  very  solid 
support  of  relationship  amid  the  isolation  of  their 
respective  grandeurs,  the  grandeurs  of  Liparia  and 
Gothland.     Yonder,  at  the  other  side  of  Europe, 
far,  far  away  from  her  and  yet  so  near  through  the 
magnetism  of  this  delicate  feeling,  she  felt  Goth- 
land lying  as  one  vast  plain  of  love,  whither  she 
could  allow  her  thoughts  to  wander.     She  was  no 
longer  giddy  with  melancholy  and  dread  in  that  she 
was  so  high  together  with  those  whom  she  loved, 
her  husband  and  her  children,  for  she  was  not  high 
alone:   in   her  highness  she  leant  against   another 
highness,     Liparia     against     Gothland,     Gothland 
against   Liparia.     It  brought   moist   tears   to   her 
eyes,  it  brought  a  melancholy  that  was  like  happi- 
ness clinging  to  her  breath.     The  spectre  of  dread 


MAJESTY  7 

had  disappeared.  She  could  have  embraced  her 
nephew;  she  would  have  liked  to  tell  him  all  this: 
his  mere  presence  gave  her  this  feeling,  a  feeling 
of  comfort  and  of  strength;  she  had  not  known  it 
for  months. 


The  door  was  opened;  the  flunkey  stood  stiff 
and  upright,  with  a  fixed  look  that  stared  straight 
before  him,  in  the  shadow  of  the  hangings.  Prin- 
cess Thera  and  Othomar  entered.  The  princess 
went  up  gaily  and  kindly  to  her  cousin,  they  kissed; 
Othomar  also  embraced  Herman,  with  a  single 
word.  But,  in  comparison  with  the  natural  utter- 
ances of  the  empress  and  of  Thera,  this  single  word 
of  the  Duke  of  Xara  sounded  studied  and  smilingly 
cold,  not  intimate,  and  carried  a  needless  air  of 
etiquette.  It  failed  to  conceal  a  translucent  insin- 
cerity, a  transparent  show  that  made  no  effort  to 
simulate  affection,  but  seemed  quite  simply  what  at 
this  moment  it  could  not  but  seem,  a  greeting  of 
feigned  kindness  between  two  cousins  of  the  same 
age.  Prince  Herman  was  accustomed  to  this :  there 
was  no  intimacy  between  him  and  Othomar;  and 
this  was  the  more  striking  when  they  saw  each  other 
for  the  first  time  after  several  months;  it  affected 
the  empress  keenly,  disagreeably. 

The  conversation  again  turned  upon  the  inun- 
dations in  the  north.  The  empress  showed  her 
children  the  latest  telegram,  the  same  that  she  had 
shown  to  Herman;  it  mentioned  fresh  disasters: 
still  more  villages  swept  away,  towns  harassed  by 


8  MAJESTY 

the  swollen  and  overflowing  rivers,  after  a  month 
of  rain  that  had  resembled  the  Flood.  It  had 
caused  the  emperor  to  proceed  three  days  ago  to  the 
northern  provinces;  but  they  at  court  were  now 
every  moment  expecting  his  orders  that  the  crown- 
prince  should  replace  him  there,  as  he  himself  was 
returning  to  Lipara  because  of  the  cabinet  crisis. 

The  crown-prince  discussed  all  this  a  little  coldly 
and  formally.  He  was  a  young  man  of  twenty-one, 
slender  and  of  short  stature,  very  slightly  built, 
with  delicate,  melancholy  features  and  dull,  black 
eyes,  that  generally  stared  straight  before  him;  a 
young  moustache  tinted  his  upper  lip  as  with  a 
stripe  of  Indian  ink.  He  had  a  way  of  drooping 
his  head  a  little  on  his  chest  and  then  looking  up 
from  under  his  eyelids;  he  generally  sat  very  quiet; 
his  hands,  which  were  small  and  broad  but  delicate, 
rested  evenly  upon  his  knees;  and  he  had  a  trick  of 
carrying  his  left  hand  to  his  eyes  and  then  —  he  was 
a  little  short-sighted  —  just  peering  at  his  ring.  He 
was  tightly  girt  in  the  blue-and-white  uniform  of  a 
captain  in  the  lancers,  the  uniform  which  he  gen- 
erally wore  in  public:  its  silver  frogs  lent  a  certain 
breadth  to  his  slenderness;  on  his  right  wrist  he 
wore  a  narrow,  dull-gold  bracelet. 

"  This  is  the  first  letter,"  said  the  empress. 
"  Read  it  out,  Thera.  .  .  ." 

The  princess  took  the  letter.  The  emperor 
wrote : 

"  It  is  heartrending  to  see  all  this  and  to  be  able 
to  do  so  little.  The  whole  district  south  of  the 
Zanthos,  from  Altara  to  Lycilia,  is  one  expanse  of 


MAJESTY  9 

water;  where  villages  stood  there  now  float  the 
remains  of  bridges  and  houses,  trees,  accumulations 
of  roofs,  dead  cattle,  carts  and  household  furniture 
and,  as  we  were  going  along  the  Therezia  Dyke, 
which  —  God  be  praised !  —  still  stands  firm  at  Al- 
tara,  a  cluster  of  corpses  was  slowly' washed  straight 
before  our  feet  in  one  gigantic  embrace  of 
death.  .  .  ." 

The  crown-prince  had  suddenly  turned  pale;  he 
remained  sitting  in  his  usual  attitude,  peering  at  his 
ring,  with  the  trick  that  was  his  habit.  Thera  read 
on.  When  the  crown-prince  looked  up  he  met  his 
mother's  eyes.  She  nodded  to  him  with  her  eye- 
lids, unseen  by  the  others,  who  were  listening  to  the 
letter;  he  smiled  —  a  smile  full  of  heartbreaking 
melancholy  —  and  answered  her  with  the  same  in- 
visible quiver  of  the  eyelids;  it  was  as  though  he  un- 
derstood that  gentle  greeting  and  drew  a  scrap  of 
comfort  from  it  for  a  mysterious,  silent  sorrow  that 
depressed  him  within  himself,  that  lay  on  his  breast 
like  an  oppression  of  the  breath,  like  a  nightmare 
in  his  waking  life. 

But  Prince  Herman  was  already  talking  about 
the  ministerial  crisis:  it  was  momentarily  expected 
that  the  authoritative  government,  rendered  power- 
less, since  the  new  elections,  in  the  house  of  deputies 
with  its  majority  of  constitutionals,  would  proffer 
its  resignation  to  the  emperor.  The  question,  as 
always,  was  that  of  a  revision  of  the  constitution, 
which  the  constitutionals  desired  and  the  authorita- 
tives  —  taking  the  side  of  the  emperor  —  opposed. 
The  Empress  Elizabeth  heaved  a  sigh  of  fatigue: 


io  MAJESTY 

how  often  had  not  this  question  of  a  revision  of  the 
constitution,  which  in  Liparia  always  meant  an  ex- 
tension of  the  constitution  and  a  restriction  of  the 
imperial  authority,  come  looming  up  during  their 
twenty  years'  reign  as  a  personal  attack  upon  her 
husband!  Resembling  his  long  line  of  Liparian 
ancestors,  hereditarily  autocratic,  Oscar  could  never 
forgive  his  father,  Othomar  XL,  for  allowing  a 
constitution  to  be  passed  in  his  more  liberal  reign. 
And  now,  at  this  crisis,  it  was  no  small  thing  that 
they  were  asking,  the  constitutionals.  The  house 
of  peers,  hereditary  and  authoritative,  the  emperor's 
own  body,  which  cancelled  every  proposal  of  a  too 
constitutional  character  sent  up  from  the  house  of 
deputies,  was  no  longer  to  stand  above  them,  heredi- 
tary and  therefore,  because  of  its  hereditary  nature, 
invariably  authoritative:  they  wanted  to  make  it 
elective !  Even  Othomar  XL,  with  his  modern  ideas 
in  favour  of  a  constitution,  would  never  have  suf- 
fered this  attack  upon  one  of  the  most  ancient 
institutions  of  the  empire,  an  attack  which  would 
shake  Liparia  to  its  foundations.  .  .  . 

While  Herman  was  debating  this,  casually,  his 
words  lightly  touching  this  all-important  question, 
it  seemed  to  Othomar  as  though  he  were  turning 
giddy.  A  world  passed  through  his  head,  rushing 
with  rapid  clouds  through  his  imagination;  and  out 
of  these  clouds  visions  loomed  up  before  him,  pale- 
red,  quick  as  lightning,  terrible  as  a  kind  of  apoca- 
lypse, the  universe  ending  in  a  dynamite  explosion. 
Out  of  these  clouds  there  flashed  up  for  an  instant 
a  scene,  a  recollection  of  the  history  of  his  imperial 
inheritance:  an  emperor  of  Liparia  murdered  cen- 


MAJESTY  ii 

turies  ago  by  one  of  his  favourites  at  a  court  festival. 
Revolutions  in  other  countries  of  Europe,  the  French 
revolution,  flickered  up  with  a  blood-red  reflection; 
the  strikes  in  the  quick-silver  mines  of  the  eastern 
provinces  grinned  at  him  out  of  them,  out  of  the 
clouds,  the  world  of  clouds  storming  through  his 
thoughts.  .  .  .  And  so  many  more,  so  many  more, 
all  so  rapid,  with  the  rapidity  of  their  lightning- 
flashes;  he  could  not  grasp  them,  the  ruddy  lightning- 
flashes;  it  all  just  flickered  through  him  and  then 
away:  it  flickered  away,  far  away!  .  .  .  And  it 
seemed  strange  to  him  that  he  was  sitting  there,  in 
his  mother's  drawing-room,  with  the  stately  park 
swarming  behind  the  plate-glass  windows,  with  tints 
of  old,  medieval  gold-leather,  now,  in  the  lowered 
gleam  of  the  sun-rays;  with  his  mother  opposite 
him,  so  sweet,  so  daintily  gentle  in  the  intimacy  of 
this  short,  uninterrupted  meeting:  his  cousin  talking 
and  his  sister  replying  and  the  little  lady-in-waiting 
listening  with  a  smile.  .  .  .  How  strange  to  sit  like 
this,  so  easily,  so  peacefully,  so  serenely,  in  the 
seclusion  of  their  palace,  as  though  Liparia  were  not 
shaking  like  an  old,  crazy  tower!  .  .  .  Yes,  they 
were  talking  about  the  crisis,  Herman  and  Thera, 
but  what  did  talking  amount  to?  Words,  nothing 
but  words !  Why  this  endless  stringing  together  of 
words,  beautiful,  empty  words,  which  a  sovereign 
is  obliged  to  string  together  and  then  utter  to  his 
subjects,  now  on  this  occasion,  now  on  that?  No, 
no,  they  were  not  in  his  province,  speeches!  For 
what,  after  all,  were  they  supposed  to  express,  this 
or  that?  What  was  right,  what  was  just,  what  was 
right  and  just  for  their  empire,  this  or  that?  How 


12  MAJESTY 

could  one  know,  how  could  one  be  certain,  how 
could  one  avoid  hesitating,  seeking,  groping,  blind- 
folded? Even  if  he  had  a  thousand  eyes  all  over 
the  empire,  would  he  be  able  to  see  everything  that 
might  happen?  And,  if  he  were  omniscient,  would 
he  always  be  able  to  know  what  would  be  right? 
The  constitution :  was  it  good  for  a  country  to  have 
a  constitution  or  not?  In  Russia:  was  it  good  in 
Russia?  A  republic:  would  a  republic  be  better? 
And  who  was  right?  Was  his  father  right  in 
wanting  to  reign  as  an  absolute  monarch,  with  his 
hereditary  house  of  peers,  in  which  he,  Othomar, 
now  recalled  his  admission,  as  Duke  of  Xara,  at 
his  eighteenth  year,  with  the  ducal  crown  and  the 
robes  and  chain  of  tfye  order  of  the  Imperial  Orb? 
Or  was  the  house  of 'deputies  right?  Would  it  be 
a  good  thing  to  place  a  restriction  upon  absolute 
sovereignty?  It  was  difficult  to  decide.  .  .  .  The 
inundations:  "  It  is  heartrending  to  see  all  this  and 
to  be  able  to  do  so  little.  .  .  .  An  expanse  of  water 
all  the  way  to  Lycilia,  a  cluster  of  corpses  in  the 
embrace  of  death.  .  .  ." 

It  lightened. 

Dull,  heavy  rumblings  rolled  through  the  sky; 
thick  drops  fell  hard  as  liquid  hail  upon  the  leaves 
of  the  plane-trees;  the  whole  park  seemed  to  shiver, 
dreading  the  threatening  cloud-burst.  Helene  rose 
and  closed  the  open  window. 

Then  Othomar  heard  a  strange  sound:  Syria  .  .  . 
Had  they  ceased  talking  of  the  house  of  peers? 
Syria,  Syria.  ...  : 

"  The  king  and  queen  were  to  have  come  next 


MAJESTY  13 

week,  but  they  have  now  postponed  their  visit," 
said  the  empress. 

"  Because  of  the  inundations,"  added  Thera. 
*  They  are  going  to  Constantinople  first.  I  only 
wish  they  would  remain  with  the  sultan.  .  .  ." 

'  This  visit  seems  to  me  at  least  to  be  something 
of  an  infliction,"  said  Herman,  laughing.  "  And 
how  long  do  they  stay,  aunt?  " 

The  empress  raised  her  shoulders  to  say  that  she 
did  not  know :  the  approaching  visit  of  the  King  and 
Queen  of  Syria  pleased  neither  her  nor  the  emperor, 
but  it  was  not  to  be  avoided.  .  .  .  However,  not 
wishing  to  say  much  on  this  subject  before  Helene, 
she  replied: 

"  All  the  court  festivities  are  now  postponed,  as 
you  know,  Herman,  because  of  these  terrible  di- 
sasters. You  will  have  a  quiet  time,  my  boy.  You 
had  better  go  with  Othomar  to  Count  Myxila's  this 
evening.  .  .  ." 

Count  Myxila,  the  imperial  chancellor,  was  that 
day  keeping  his  sixtieth  birthday.  He  was  the  em- 
peror's principal  favourite.  That  morning  he  had 
been  to  the  empress  to  receive  her  congratulations. 
The  crown-prince  was,  by  the  emperor's  desire,  to 
appear  for  a  moment  at  the  reception  in  the  chancel- 
lor's palace. 

Prince  Herman  glanced  at  Othomar  enquiringly, 
as  though  expecting  a  word  from  him  too. 

"  Of  course,"  the  Duke  of  Zara  hastened  to  say. 
"  Myxila  will  reckon  on  seeing  Herman.  .  .  ." 


I4  MAJESTY 


When,  at  half-past  ten  in  the  evening,  Othomar 
and  Herman  returned  from  the  chancellor's  palace 
in  a  downpour  of  rain,  it  was  known  among  the 
empress'  entourage  also  that  the  government  had 
resigned;  the  princes  had  met  the  ministers  at  Count 
Myxila's;  the  crisis  had  thrilled  through  the  out- 
ward ceremonial  of  the  reception  like  a  threatening 
shudder  of  fever.  Also  there  was  a  telegram  from 
the  emperor  for  the  Duke  of  Xara : 

"  I  wish  your  imperial  highness  to  proceed  to 
Altara  to-morrow. 

"  OSCAR." 

The  telegram  did  not  come  as  a  surprise,  but 
was  the  natural  consequence  of  the  resignation  of 
the  government  and  of  the  emperor's  return,  for 
the  emperor  did  not  wish  to  leave  the  scene  of  the 
disasters  without  the  consolation  that  the  heir-appar- 
ent was  about  to  replace  him. 

After  a  moment  spent  with  the  empress,  Otho- 
mar withdrew  to  his  own  apartments.  He  sent 
for  his  equerry,  Prince  Dutri,  and  consulted  with 
him  shortly  and  in  a  few  words,  after  which  the 
equerry  hurried  away  with  much  ado.  In  his 
dressing-room  Othomar  found  his  valet,  Andro, 
who  had  been  warned  by  one  of  the  chamberlains 
and  was  already  busily  packing  up. 

"  Don't  pack  too  much,"  he  said,  as  the  valet 
rose  respectfully  from  the  trunk  before  which  he 
was  kneeling.  "  It  would  only  be  in  the  way.  .  .  ." 


MAJESTY  15 

So  soon  as  he  had  said  this,  he  failed  to  see  the 
reason.  Nor  did  the  valet  seem  to  take  any  notice 
of  it:  kneeling  down  again  before  the  trunk,  he 
continued  to  pack  what  he  thought  fit.  It  would 
be  quite  right  as  Andro  was  doing  it,  thought  Otho- 
mar. 

And  he  flung  himself  into  a  chair  in  his  study. 
One  of  the  windows  was  open;  a  single  standard 
lamp  in  a  corner  gave  a  dim  light.  The  furious 
downpour  raged  outside;  a  humid  whiff  of  wet 
leaves  drifted  indoors. 

The  prince  was  tired,  too  tired  to  summon  Andro 
to  pull  off  his  tight  patent-leather  boots.  He  was 
wearing  the  white-and-gold  uniform  of  a  colonel  of 
the  throne-guards,  the  imperial  body-guard;  the 
chain  of  the  order  of  the  Imperial  Orb  hung  round 
his  neck;  other  decorations  studded  his  breast.  The 
reception  at  the  imperial  chancellor's  still  whirled 
before  his  eyes;  in  his  brain  buzzed,  mingling  with 
the  rain,  the  inevitable  conversations  about  the  crisis, 
the  government,  the  house  of  peers.  He  saw  him- 
self the  crown-prince,  always  the  crown-prince,  al- 
ways too  condescending,  too  affable,  not  sufficiently 
natural,  not  simple,  not  easy  like  Herman;  and  he 
saw  Herman  moving  easily  through  the  rooms  of 
the  chancellor's  palace,  asking  quite  simply  to  be 
introduced  to  the  ladies,  now  by  Count  Myxila  and 
again  by  an  equerry.  And  he  envied  his  cousin,  who 
was  a  second  son.  Herman  did  not  cause  the  at- 
mosphere around  him  to  freeze  at  once,  as  did  he, 
with  the  cold  imperial  look  of  his  crown-princedom. 

He  saw  the  ministers,  the  ministers  who  were 
about  to  retire,  each  with  his  own  interests  at  heart 


1 6  MAJESTY 

instead  of  those  of  Liparia.  He  suspected  this  from 
their  humble  attitudes  before  him,  the  crown-prince, 
when  he  had  spoken  to  all  of  them.  .  .  .  He  felt 
that  they  were  only  playing  a  part,  that  there  was 
much  in  them  that  they  did  not  allow  to  transpire; 
and  he  suddenly  asked  himself  why,  why  this  should 
all  be  so,  why  so  much  show,  nothing  but  show.  .  .  . 
And  he  was  suffering  now,  deep  in  his  breast;  the 
tightness  of  his  uniform,  loaded  with  decorations, 
oppressed  him.  .  .  . 

He  saw  old  Countess  Myxila  and  some  other 
ladies,  whom  he  had  seen  curtseying  amid  the 
crackling  of  their  trains  and  the  sudden  downward 
glitter  of  their  diamonds,  whom  he  had  seen  flushing 
with  pleasure  because  the  Duke  of  Xara  had  taken 
notice  of  them.  And  the  wife  also  of  the  court- 
marshal,  the  Duchess  of  Yemena,  who  had  so  long 
been  absent  from  court  in  voluntary  exile  at  her 
estate  in  Vaza:  he  saw  her  approaching  on  Prince 
Dutri's  arm.  For  he  did  not  know  her:  years  ago, 
when  she  was  at  court,  he  was  a  boy  of  fifteen,  un- 
dergoing a  strict  military  education,  seldom  with 
the  empress  and  never  at  the  court  festivals;  he  had 
never  seen  the  duchess  at  that  time. 

Now,  in  the  twilight  of  that  one  lamp,  with  the 
weather  raging  outside,  he  saw  her  once  more  and 
she  became  as  it  were  transparent  in  the  lines  of  the 
rain;  she  looked  strange,  seen  through  the  rain,  as 
through  a  curtain  of  wet  muslin.  A  tall  woman, 
voluptuously  formed,  half-naked  under  the  white 
radiance  of  her  diamond  necklace,  that  was  how  she 
approached  him:  her  hair  blue-black  with  a  gleam 
in  it,  her  face  a  little  pale  under  a  thin  bloom  of  rose 


MAJESTY  17 

powder;  she  came  nearer,  slowly,  hesitating,  in  her 
yellow-gold  figured  satin,  edged  with  heavy  sable; 
she  bowed  before  him,  with  a  deep,  reverential 
curtsey  before  the  imperial  presence:  her  head  sank 
upon  her  breast,  the  tiara  in  her  black  hair  shot 
forth  rays,  her  whole  stature  curved  down  as  with 
one  serpentine  line  of  grace  in  the  material  of 
gleaming  gold  that  shone  about  her  bosom  and 
seemed  to  break  over  the  thick  folds  of  her  train 
with  a  filagree  of  light.  He  had  spoken  to  her. 
She  rose  from  the  billows  of  her  reverential  grace; 
she  replied,  he  forgot  what;  her  eyes  sparkled  upon 
his  like  black  stars.  She  had  made  an  impression 
upon  him.  He  thought  it  was  because  he  had  heard 
her  much  spoken  of  as  a  woman  with  a  life  full  of 
passion,  a  thing  that  was  a  riddle  to  him.  His 
education  had  been  military  and  strictly  chaste,  his 
youth  had  remained  uncorrupted  by  the  easy  morals 
of  the  court,  perhaps  because  his  parents,  after  a 
long  and  secret  separation,  known  to  none  but  them- 
selves, had  come  together  again  from  a  need  of 
family-life  and  mutual  support;  the  Empress  Eliza- 
beth had  forgiven  the  Emperor  Oscar  and  submitted 
to  his  infidelities  as  inevitable.  Round  about  him 
Othomar  had  never  had  occasion  to  observe  the  life 
of  the  senses.  At  the  university  of  Altara,  where 
he  had  studied,  he  had  never  taken  part,  except 
officially,  in  the  diversions  of  the  students;  he  had 
always  remained  the  crown-prince,  not  from  haughti- 
ness, but  because  he  was  unable  to  do  otherwise, 
from  lack  of  ease  and  tact. 

And  something  in  the  duchess  had  made  an  im- 
pression on  him,  as  of  a  thing  unknown.     He  felt 


1 8  MAJESTY 

in  this  woman,  who  curtseyed  so  deeply  before  him 
with  her  sphinx-like  smile,  a  world  of  emotion  and 
knowledge  which  he  did  not  possess;  he  had  felt 
poor  in  comparison  with  her,  small  and  insignificant. 
What  was  it  that  she  possessed  and  he  not?  Was 
it  a  riddle  of  the  soul?  Were  there  such  things, 
soul-enigmas,  and  was  it  worth  while  to  try  to  fa- 
thom them?  Such  a  woman  as  she,  was  she  not 
quite  different  from  his  mother  and  sisters?  Or 
did  his  equerries,  among  themselves,  speak  of  his 
sisters  too  as  they  spoke  of  the  duchess?  And  this 
life  of  passion,  this  life  of  love  for  so  many,  was 
that  then  the  truth?  Did  they  not  slander  her,  the 
equerries,  or  at  least  did  they  not  make  truth  seem 
different  from  what  it  was,  as  they  always  did  in 
everything,  as  if  the  truth  must  always  be  made  to 
seem  other  to  a  prince  than  to  a  subject? 

He  felt  tired.  And  he  sat  on,  striving  in  vain 
to  drive  from  him  the  whirl  of  the  strange  figures 
of  that  reception  seen  through  a  transparency  of 
rain.  Before  him,  as  though  in  his  room,  they  all 
walked  through  one  another:  the  ministers,  the 
equerries,  Count  Myxila  and  the  duchess.  .  .  . 

A  knock,  a  chamberlain: 

"  Prince  Herman  is  asking  whether  he  may  in- 
trude on  your  highness  for  a  minute." 

He  nodded  yes.  After  a  moment  Prince  Her- 
man entered. 

"  You  are  always  welcome,  Herman,"  said  Otho- 
mar;  and  his  voice  sounded  cold  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  you  something,"  said  Her- 
man of  Gothland.  "  I  should  much  like  to  go  wit'.i 
you  to  Altara  to-morrow;  but  I  want  to  be  certain 


MAJESTY  19 

that  you  don't  mind.  I  would  not  have  asked  it 
of  my  own  accord,  if  my  aunt  hadn't  spoken  of  it. 
What  do  you  think?" 

Othomar  looked  at  Herman;  Othomar  did  not 
like  his  cool  voice: 

"  If  you  do  so  out  of  sympathy,  because  you 
happen  to  be  at  Lipara,  by  all  means,"  he  be- 
gan. .  .  . 

"  Let  me  tell  you  once  more :  I  am  doing  this 
chiefly  because  of  ...  your  mother." 
His  voice  sounded  very  emphatic. 
"  Do  it  for  her  then,"  replied  Othomar,  gently. 
"  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  if  you  go  with  m*e 
for  my  mother's  sake." 

Herman  realized  that  he  had  been  unnecessarily 
cool  and  emphatic.  He  was  sorry.  The  empress 
had  asked  him  to  accompany  Othomar.  He  had 
hesitated  at  first,  knowing  that  there  was  a  lack  of 
sympathy  between  Othomar  and  him.  Then  he  had 
yielded,  but  had  not  known  how  to  ask  Othomar. 
His  usual  ease  of  manner  had  forsaken  him,  as  it 
always  did  in  Othomar's  presence. 

'  Very  well,  then,"  Herman  stammered,  awk- 
w*ardly. 

Othomar  put  out  his  hand: 

"  I  understand  your  intention  perfe'ctly.     Mamma 
would  like  you  to  go  too,  because  she  will  then  be 
sure  that  there  is  some  one  with  me  whom  I  can 
trust  in  everything.     Isn't  that  it?" 
Herman  pressed  his  hand: 

'  Yes,"  he  said,  pleased,  contented,  feeling  no 
annoyance  that  Othomar  had  had  the  best  of  the 
conversation,  delighted  that  his  cousin  took  it  like 


20  MAJESTY 

this.  '  Yes,  just  so;  that's  how  it  is.  Don't  let  me 
detain  you  now:  it's  late.  Good-night.  .  .  ." 

"Good-night.  .  .  ." 

Herman  went.  It  was  still  pouring  with  rain. 
Othomar  sat  down  again;  the  chill  of  the  rainy  night 
pressed  coldly  into  the  room  and  fell  upon  his 
shoulders.  But  he  remained  staring  motionlessly 
at  the  tips  of  his  boots. 

Andro  entered  softly: 

"  Does  your  highness  wish  me  to  .  .  ." 

Othomar  nodded.  The  valet  nVst  closed  the 
window  and  drew  the  blind  and  then  knelt  before 
the  prince,  who,  with  a  gesture  of  fatigue,  put  out 
his  foot  to  him  and  rested  the  heel  of  his  boot  on 
the  man's  knee. 


The  downpour  ceased  during  the  night;  but  it  was 
raining  again  in  the  morning.  It  was  seven  o'clock ; 
a  sultry  moisture  covered  the  colossal  glass  roof  of 
the  station,  as  though  it  had  been  breathed  upon 
from  end  to  end.  The  special  train  stood  waiting; 
the  engine  gave  short,  powerful  snorts,  like  a  dis- 
contented, tired  beast.  A  great  multitude,  a  buzzing 
accumulation  of  vague  people  filled  the  glass  hall; 
a  detachment  of  infantry  —  two  files,  to  right  and 
left;  the  uniforms,  dark-red  and  pale-grey;  above, 
a  faint  glitter  of  bayonets  —  drew  two  long  stripes 
of  colour  diagonally  through  the  sombre  station,  cut 
the  crowd  into  two  and  kept  a  broad  space  clear  in 
front  of  the  imperial  waiting-room. 
'  Dissatisfaction  hovered  over  the  crowd;  angry 


MAJESTY  21 

glances  flashed;  rough  words  crackled  sharply 
through  the  air,  mingled  with  curses;  a  contemptuous 
laugh  sounded  in  a  corner. 

There  was  a  long  wait;  then  a  cheer  was  heard 
outside :  the  prince  had  arrived  in  front  of  the  sta- 
tion. The  waiting-room  became  filled  with  uni- 
forms, glistening  faintly  in  the  morning  light;  brief 
sentences  were  exchanged  in  a  low  voice. 

Othomar  entered  with  Herman  and  the  Marquis 
of  Dazzara,  the  governor  of  the  capital,  the  highest 
military  authority,  whose  rich  uniform  stood  out 
against  the  simpler  ones  of  the  others,  even  against 
those  of  the  princes;  they  were  followed  by  adju- 
tants, Liparian  and  Gothland  equerries,  aides-de- 
camp. The  mayor  of  the  town  and  the  managing 
director  of  the  railway  stepped  towards  Othomar 
and  saluted  him;  the  mayor  stumbled  through  long 
phrases  before  the  two  princes. 

'  Why  wasn't  the  approach  to  the  platform  closed 
to  the  public?"  asked  General  Ducardi  of  the  di- 
rector, after  the  adjutant-general  had  glanced  at  the 
platform  through  the  lace  curtains,  curious  about 
the  humming  outside. 

The  director  shrugged  his  shoulders: 

"That  was  our  first  intention;  it  was  done  in 
that  way  when  the  emperor  left,"  he  replied.  "  But 
a  special  message  was  received  from  the  Imperial, 
urgently  requesting  us  not  to  shut  off  the  platform; 
it  was"  the  Duke  of  Xara's  wish." 

"  And  how  about  all  those  soldiers?  " 

"  By  command  of  the  governor  of  the  capital. 
An  aide-de-camp  came  and  told  us  that  a  detachment 
of  infantry  was  coming  as  a  guard-of -honour." 


22  MAJESTY 

"  Was  that  aide-de-camp  also  from  the  Impe- 
rial?" 

"  No,  from  the  governor's  palace.  .  .  ." 

Ducardi  shrugged  his  shoulders;  an  angry  growl 
fluttered  his  great,  grey  moustache.  He  walked 
straight  up  to  the  crown-prince : 

"  Is  your  highness  aware  that  there  is  a  detach- 
ment of  infantry  outside?  "  he  said,  interrupting  the 
mayor's  long  sentences. 

The  governor  heard  him  and  drew  nearer. 

"A  detachment?  .  .  .  No,"  said  Othomar,  in 
astonishment. 

"Did  your  highness  not  command  it,  then?" 
Ducardi  continued. 

"I?     No,"  Othomar  repeated. 

The  governor  bowed  low;  the  general's  loud, 
gruff  voice  unnerved  him. 

"I  thought,"  said  the  governor,  urbanely,  but 
mumbling,  stammering  —  and  he  tried  to  be  at  once 
humble  before  the  prince  and  haughty  towards  the 
general  — "  I  thought  it  would  be  well  to  safeguard 
your  highness  against  possible  .  .  .  possible  un- 
pleasantness, especially  as  your  highness  desired 
.  .  .  desired  that  the  platform  should  remain  open 
to  the  public.  .  .  ." 

Othomar  looked  out  as  Ducardi  had  done;  he  saw 
the  infantry  drawn  up  and  the  crowd  behind,  angry, 
murmuring,  drab,  threatening: 

"  But,  excellency,"  he  said,  aloud,  to  the  governor, 
"  in  that  case  it  would  have  been  better  to  shut  off 
the  platform  entirely.  This  is  quite  wrong.  The 
police  would  have  been  sufficient  to  prevent  any 
crowding." 


MAJESTY  23 

"  I  was  afraid  of  ...  of  unpleasantness,  high- 
ness. Troubled  times,  the  people  so  discontented," 
he  whispered,  fearing  to  be  overheard  by  the 
equerries. 

"  Quite  wrong,"  repeated  Othomar,  angrily, 
nervously  excited.  "  Let  the  infantry  march  off." 

'  That's  out  of  the  question  now,"  Ducardi 
hastened  to  say,  with  an  unhappy  smile.  "  You 
understand  that  that  can't  be  done." 

The  conversation  had  been  carried  on  aside,  in 
a  half-whispering  tone;  yet  everybody  seemed  to 
listen.  All  eyes  were  gazing  on  the  group  surround- 
ing the  princes;  the  others  were  silent. 

4  Then  let  us  prolong  this  regrettable  situation 
as  little  as  possible;  we  may  as  well  go,"  said  Otho- 
mar; and  his  voice  quivered  high,  young  and  nervous 
in  his  clear  throat. 

The  doors  were  opened;  Othomar,  in  his  hurry, 
stepped  out  first;  the  equerries  and  aides-de-camp 
did  not  follow  him  at  once,  as  they  had  to  make 
way  for  Prince  Herman,  who  happened  to  be  a  little 
behind.  Herman  hurried  up  to  Othomar;  the 
others  followed. 

The  princes  made  a  movement  of  the  head  to  left 
and  right  as  though  to  bow;  but  their  eyes  met  the 
fixed,  round  eyes  of  the  soldiers,  who  had  presented 
arms  with  a  flash;  they  saluted  and  walked  on  to 
their  compartment  a  little  quickly,  with  an  un- 
pleasant feeling  in  their  backs. 

Under  the  colossal  glass  roof  of  the  station,  be- 
hind the  files  of  soldiers,  the  crowd  stood  as  still 
as  death,  for  the  humming  had  almost  ceased;  there 
was  no  curse  nor  scornful  word  heard,  but  also  no 


24  MAJESTY 

cheer,  no  loud,  loyal  hurrah  sweet  to  the  ears  of 
princes. 

And  the  faces  of  those  vague  people,  separated 
by  uniforms  and  bayonets  from  their  future  ruler, 
remained  gazing  fixedly  with  dull,  hostile  eyes,  with 
firmly-closed  lips,  full  of  forced  restraint,  as  though 
to  stare  him  out  of  existence  in  the  imperial  compart- 
ment. 

The  princes  waved  their  hands  from  the  windows 
to  the  dignitaries,  who  stood  on  the  platform  bow- 
ing, saluting.  The  engine  whistled,  shrieked,  tore 
the  close  atmosphere  of  humidity  under  the  dome; 
the  train  left  the  station,  drove  into  the  early  morn- 
ing, which  was  lighter  outside  the  glass  roof,  glided 
as  it  were  over  the  rainy  town  upon  viaducts,  with 
canals,  streets,  squares  beneath  it;  farther  on,  the 
pinnacles  and  spires  of  the  palaces  and  churches; 
the  two  marble  towers  of  the  cathedral,  with  the 
doves  nestling  in  the  renascence  tracery  of  the  lace- 
work  of  its  steeples,  standing  out  pale-white  against 
the  sky,  which  was  now  turning  blue;  then,  in  the 
centre  of  the  town  —  green  and  wide,  one  oasis  — 
the  Elizabeth  Parks,  the  white  mass  of  the  Imperial 
and,  behind  that,  the  gigantic  bend  of  the  quays,  the 
harbour  with  its  forest  of  masts,  the  oval  curve  of 
the  horizon  of  the  sea,  all  wet,  glittering,  raining  in 
the  distance. 

Othomar  looked  sombrely  before  him.  Herman 
smiled  to  him: 

"  Come,  don't  think  about  it  any  more,"  he  ad- 
vised him,  adding  with  a  laugh,  "  Our  poor  governor 
has  had  his  appetite  spoilt  for  to-day." 

General  Ducardi  muttered  an  inward  curse: 


MAJESTY  25 

"  Monstrously  stupid,"  Herman  heard  him  mum- 
bling. 

"  I  wanted  to  show  them,"  said  Othomar,  sud- 
denly. .  .  .  He  had  intended  to  say,  "  that  I  am 
not  afraid  of  them."  He  threw  a  glance  around 
him,  saw  the  eyes  of  Prince  Dutri,  his  equerry,  fixed 
upon  him  like  a  basilisk's  and  let  his  voice  change 
from  proud  to  faint-hearted;  sadly  he  concluded, 
"  that  I  love  them  and  trust  them  so  completely. 
Why  need  it  have  happened  like  this?  .  .  ." 

His  voice  had  sounded  faint,  to  please  Prince 
Dutri;  but  it  displeased  the  general.  He  first 
glanced  aside  at  his  crown-prince  and  then  at  the 
Prince  of  Gothland;  he  drew  a  comparison;  his 
eye  continued  to  rest  appreciatively,  in  soldierly  ap- 
proval, on  the  smart  naval  lieutenant,  broad  and 
strong,  sitting  with  his  hands  on  his  thighs,  bending 
forward  a  little,  looking  back  at  the  white  capital 
as  it  receded  before  his  eyes  through  the  slanting 
rainbeams.  .  .  . 

After  four  hours'  travelling,  Novi,  in  the  pro- 
vince of  Xara.  The  train  stops;  the  princes  and 
their  suite  alight,  consult  clocks,  watches.  They 
express  surprise,  they  walk  up  and  down  the  plat- 
form for  half  an  hour,  for  an  hour.  Prince  Her- 
man engages  in  a  busy  conversation  with  the  station- 
master.  It  is  still  raining. 

At  last  the  special  from  Altara  is  signalled.  The 
train  glides  in  and  stops;  the  Emperor  Oscar  alights 
from  the  imperial  compartment.  He  is  followed 
by  generals  and  aides-de-camp:  their  uniforms,  the 
emperor's  included,  have  lost  something  of  their 


26  MAJESTY 

smartness  and  hang  in  tired  creases  from  their 
shoulders,  like  clothes  worn  a  long  time.  The  em- 
peror, still  young,  broad  and  sturdy  and  only  just 
turning  grey,  walks  with  a  firm  step;  he  embraces 
his  son,  his  nephew,  brusquely,  hastily.  The  im- 
perial party  disappear  into  the  waiting-room;  Du- 
cardi  and  one  of  the  Gothlandic  officers  follow  them. 
The  interview,  however,  is  a  short  one :  in  ten  minutes 
they  reappear  on  the  platform;  brief  words  and 
handshakes  are  exchanged;  the  emperor  steps  back 
into  his  compartment,  the  crown-prince  into  his. 
The  prince's  train  waits  until  his  father's  passes  it 
—  a  last  wave  of  the  hand  —  then  it  too  steams 
away.  .  .  . 

Care  lies  like  a  cloud  upon  Othomar's  forehead. 
He  remembers  his  father's  words:  in  a  desperate 
condition,  our  fine  old  city.  The  Therezia  Dyke 
may  be  giving  way;  so  little  energy  in  the  municipal 
council;  thousands  of  people  without  a  roof  to  cover 
them,  fleeing,  spending  the  night  in  churches,  in 
public  buildings.  And  his  last  word : 

"  Send  some  of  them  to  St.  Ladislas.  .  .  ." 

Othomar  reflects;  all  are  silent  about  him,  de- 
pressed by  the  after-sound  of  the  emperor's  words, 
which  have  painted  the  disaster  anew,  brought  it 
afresh  before  their  eyes:  the  eyes  of  Ducardi,  who 
knows  himself  to  be  more  ready  with  sword  in  war 
than  with  sympathy  in  cases  of  inundation;  the  eyes 
of  Dutri,  still  filled  with  the  mundane  glamour  of 
the  incomparable  capital.  Some  part  of  their  self- 
concentration  falls  silent;  a  thought  of  what  they 
are  about  to  see  crosses  their  minds. 

And  Othomar  reflects.     What  shall  he  do,  what 


MAJESTY  27 

can  he  do?  Is  it  not  too  much  that  is  asked  of  him? 
Can  he,  can  he  combat  the  stress  of  the  waters? 

"  Oh,  this  rain,  this  rain !  "  he  mutters,  secretly 
clenching  his  fist. 

Five  hours'  more  travelling.  The  towers  of  the 
city,  the  crenulated  outline  and  Titanic  plateaus  of 
St.  Ladislas,  with  its  bastions,  shoot  up  on  the 
horizon,  shift  to  one  side  when  approached.  The 
train  stops,  in  the  open  country,  at  a  little  halting- 
place;  the  princes  know  that  the  Central  Station  is 
flooded;  the  whole  railway-management  has  been 
transferred  to  this  halt.  And  suddenly  they  stand 
in  the  presence  of  the  smooth,  green,  watery  expanse 
of  the  Zanthos,  which  has  spread  itself  into  one 
sea  of  water,  broad  and  even,  hardly  rippled,  like  a 
wrath  appeased.  A  punt  is  waiting  and  carries  them 
through  ruins  of  houses,  through  floating  household 
goods.  A  dead  horse  catches  on  to  the  punt;  a  musty 
odour  of  damp  decay  hovers  about.  At  an  over- 
turned house,  men  in  a  punt  are  busied  fishing  up  a 
corpse ;  it  hangs  on  their  boat-hooks  with  slack  arms 
and  long,  wet  hair,  the  pallid,  dead  head  drooping 
backwards;  it  is  a  woman.  Herman  sees  Othomar's 
lips  quiver. 

Now  they  float  through  a  street  of  tall,  deserted 
houses  in  a  poor  suburb.  This  part  has  been  flooded 
for  days.  They  alight  in  a  square;  the  people  are 
there;  they  cheer.  Louder  and  louder  they  cheer, 
moved  by  the  sight  of  their  prince,  who  has  come 
across  the  water  to  save  them.  A  group  of  students 
shout,  call  out  his  name  and  cheer  and  wave  their 
coloured  caps. 

Othomar  shakes  hands  with  the  mayor,  the  min- 


28  MAJESTY 

ister  for  waterways,  the  governor  of  Altara  and 
other  dignitaries.  His  heart  is  full;  he  feels  a  sob 
welling  up  from  his  breast. 

From  among  the  group  of  students  one  steps  for- 
ward, a  big,  tall  lad: 

"Highness!"  he  cries.  "May  we  be  your 
guard-of-honour?  " 

Etiquette  hardly  exists  here,  though  the  digni- 
taries look  angry.  Othomar,  remembering  his  own 
student  days,  not  yet  so  long  ago,  presses  the  stu- 
dents' hand ;  Prince  Herman  does  the  same ;  and  the 
students  grow  excited  and  once  more  shout  and 
clamour: 

"Hurrah!  Hurrah!  Othomar  for  ever !  Goth- 
land for  ever!  " 

Behind  this  square  the  city  is  perceived  to  be  in 
distress,  a  silent  distress  from  yet  greater  danger 
threatening:  the  old  coronation-city,  the  city  of 
learning  and  tradition,  the  sombre  monument  of  the 
middle  ages;  she  looks  grey  compared  with  white 
Lipara,  which  lies  laughing  yonder  and  is  beautiful 
with  new  marble  on  her  blue  sea,  but  which  does  not 
love  her  sovereigns  so  well  as  she  does,  the  de- 
throned capital,  with  her  gigantic  Romanesque 
cathedral,  where  the  sacred  imperial  crown  with  the 
cross  of  St.  Ladislas  is  pressed  on  the  temples  of 
every  emperor  of  Liparia.  Though  her  misters 
are  faithless  to  her  and  have  for  centuries  lived  in 
their  white  Imperial  over  yonder  and  no  longer  in 
the  old  castellated  fortress  of  the  country's  patron 
saint,  she,  the  old  city,  the  mother  of  the  country, 
remains  faithful  to  them  with  her  maternal  love  and 
not  because  of  her  oath,  but  because  of  her  blood, 


MAJESTY  29 

of  her  heart,  of  all  her  life,  which  is  her  old  tradi- 
tion. .  .  . 

But,  like  his  father,  Othomar  was  not  this  time 
to  go  to  the  Castle  of  St.  Ladislas:  the  fortress  lay 
too  high  and  too  far  from  the  town,  too  far  from 
the  scene  of  disasters.  Open  carriages  stood  in 
waiting;  they  stepped  in,  the  students  flung  them- 
selves on  horseback;  the  princes  were  to  take  up 
their  residence  in  the  palace  of  the  cardinal-arch- 
bishop, the  primate  of  Liparia,  in  the  Episcopal, 
which,  together  with  the  cathedral  and  the  Old 
Palace,  formed  one  colossal,  ancient,  grey  mass,  a 
town  in  itself,  the  very  heart  of  the  city. 

They  rode  quickly  on.  The  people  cheered;  they 
look  upon  them  as  a  train  of  deliverers  who,  they 
thought,  would  at  last  bring  them  safety.  Between 
the  departure  of  the  emperor  and  the  arrival  of  the 
prince  a  depression  had  reigned  which,  at  the  sight 
of  Othomar,  changed  into  morbid  enthusiasm. 

It  became  suddenly  dark,  but  not  through  the 
sun's  setting  —  it  was  only  five  o'clock  in  the  month 
of  March  in  the  south  —  it  became  dark  because 
of  the  clouds,  the  ships  in  the  sky  carrying  in  their 
tense,  bowl-shaped,  giant  sails  water  which  already 
was  beginning  to  trickle  down  again  in  drops.  Un- 
der that  grey  sky  the  cheering  of  the  people  rose  in 
a  minor  key,  when  suddenly,  as  though  the  sw'ollen 
clouds  were  bursting  open  with  one  rent,  a  flood 
dashed  down  in  a  solitary,  perpendicular  sheet  of 
water. 

Othomar  was  sitting  with  Herman  and  Ducardi 
in  the  first  carriage. 


30  .  MAJESTY 

'  Would  not  your  highness  prefer  to  have  the 
carriage  closed?  "  asked  the  old  general,  helping  the 
prince  on  with  his  cape. 

Othomar  hesitated;  he  had  no  time  to  answer 
the  general;  the  crowd  increased,  became  thicker, 
cheered;  and  he  bowed  in  acknowledgement,  saluted, 
nodded.  The  heavy  rain  clattered  straight  down. 
The  hard  rainbeams  ran  down  the  princes'  and  the 
general's  necks,  down  their  backs,  soaked  their  knees. 
The  crowd  stood  sheltered  under  an  irregular  roof 
of  umbrellas,  as  though  grouped  under  wet,  black 
stars,  filled  the  narrow  streets  of  the  old  city, 
pressed  in  between  the  outriders  and  the  carriage: 
the  coachman  had  to  drive  more  slowly. 

"Won't  you  have  the  carriage  shut?"  Herman 
repeated  after  Ducardi. 

Othomar  still  hesitated.  Then  —  and  he  him- 
self thought  his  words  a  little  theatrical  and  did  not 
know  how  they  would  sound  —  he  answered  aloud: 

"  No,  do  not  let  us  be  afraid  of  the  water;  they 
have  all  suffered  from  the  water  here." 

But  Ducardi  looked  at  him;  he  felt  something 
quiver  inside  him  for  his  prince.  .  .  . 

The  carriage  remained  open.  In  one  of  the  lan- 
daus following,  Prince  Dutri  looked  round  furiously 
to  see  how  much  longer  the  Duke  of  Xara  meant  to 
let  himself  be  saturated  with  rain  and  his  suite  with 
him.  In  the  narrow,  high  streets  near  the  cathedral 
they  had  to  drive  almost  at  a  walking-pace,  right 
through  the  cheering  of  the  crowding  populace. 
Soaked  to  the  skin,  the  Crown-prince  of  Liparia 
with  his  following  arrived  at  the  cardinal-arch- 


MAJESTY  31 

bishop's;  they  left  a  trail  of  water  behind  them  on 
the  staircases  and  in  the  corridors  of  the  Episcopal. 


In  changed  uniforms,  a  short  dinner  with  the  high 
prelate;  a  few  canons  and  minor  ecclesiastics  sit 
down  with  them.  The  room  is  large  and  sombre, 
barely  lighted  with  a  feeble  glimmer  of  candles;  the 
silver  gleams,  dully  on  the  dressers  of  old  black  oak; 
the  frescoes  on  the  walls  —  sacred  subjects  —  are 
barely  distinguishable.  A  silent  haste  quickens  the 
jaws;  the  conversation  is  conducted  in  an  under- 
tone; the  servants,  in  their  dark  livery,  move  as 
though  on  tiptoe.  The  cardinal,  on  either  side  of 
whom  the  princes  are  seated,  is  tall  and  thin,  with  a 
refined,  ascetic  face  and  the  steel-blue  eyes  of  an 
enthusiast;  his  voice  issues  from  low  down  in  his 
throat,  like  that  of  an  oracle;  he  says  something  of 
the  Lord's  will  and  makes  a  submissive  gesture  with 
both  hands,  the  fingers  lightly  outspread,  as  Jesus 
does  in  the  old  pictures.  One  of  the  priests,  the 
cardinal's  private  secretary,  a  young  man  with  a 
round,  pink  face  and  soft,  white  hands,  laughs  rather 
loudly  at  a  joke  of  Prince  Dutri,  who,  sitting  next 
to  him,  tells  a  story  about  a  countess  in  Lipara 
whom  they  both  know.  The  cardinal  casts  a  stern 
glance  at  the  frivolous  secretary. 

After  the  hurried  dinner,  the  princes  and  their 
suite  ride  into  the  town  on  horseback,  cheered 
wherever  they  go.  The  water  already  mounts  close 
to  the  cathedral  and  the  Archiepiscopal  Palace. 


32  MAJESTY 

Groups  of  men,  women  and  children,  sobbing,  flow 
towards  the  prince,  as  he  rides  across  the  dark 
squares;  they  carry  torches  about  him,  as  the  gas 
is  not  everywhere  lighted;  the  ruddy  flares  look 
strange,  romantic,  over  the  ancient  dark  mass  of 
the  walls  and  are  reflected  with  long  streaks  of  blood 
in  the  water  lying  in  the  narrow  alleys.  A  large 
house  of  many  storeys  and  rows  of  little  windows 
appears  to  have  suddenly  gone  under:  a  sudden 
mysterious  pressure  of  water,  filtering  from  the 
foundations  through  the  masonry  of  the  cellars, 
making  its  treacherous  way  through  the  least  crack 
or  crevice.  The  inhabitants  save  themselves  in 
skiffs,  which  pass  with  little  red  lights  through  the 
black,  watery  town;  a  child  cries  at  the  top  of  its 
voice.  They  are  poor  people  there  in  hundreds, 
living,  packed  as  in  boxes.  The  princes  alight  and 
step  into  a  boat  and  are  rowed  to  the  spot;  it  be- 
comes known  who  they  are ;  they  themselves  help  an 
old  woman  with  three  children,  all  wet  to  the  waist, 
to  climb  on  to  a  raft;  they  themselves  give  them 
money,  shout  instructions  to  them.  And  they  point 
to  the  old  fortress  of  St.  Ladislas  as  a  refuge.  .  .  . 
But  a  cry  arises,  farther  on,  a  cry  at  first  not 
clearly  perceived  in  the  darkness  of  the  evening,  then 
at  last  distinctly  audible: 

"  The  Therezia  Dyke !  The  Therezia  Dyke ! .  . ." 
The  princes  want  to  go  there;  it  is  not  possible 
on  horseback;  the  only  way  is  in  boats.  Prince 
Herman  himself  grasps  the  sculls;  in  the  next  boat 
Dutri  declares  to  Von  Fest,  one  of  the  Gothlandic 
equerries,  that,  taken  all  round,  he  thinks  Venice 
more  comfortable.  .  .  . 


MAJESTY  33 

"  The  Therezia  Dyke !  The  Therezia  Dyke ! . . ." 
The  dyke  lies  like  the  black  back  of  a  great,  long 
beast  just  outside  the  town,  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Zanthos,  and  protects  the  whole  St.  Therezia  di- 
strict, the  eastern  portion  of  the  city,  which  stands 
tolerably  high,  from  the  river,  which  generally 
overflows  in  springtime.  The  boats  glide  over  the 
water-streets;  a  landing  is  possible  in  the  Therezia 
Square;  lanterns  are  burning;  torches  flare,  ruddy 
scintillations  dart  over  the  water.  The  square  is 
large  and  wide;  the  houses  stand  black  round  about 
it  and  surround  it  in  the  night  with  their  irregular 
lines  of  gables  and  chimneys,  with  the  massive  pile 
of  the  church  of  St.  Therezia,  whose  steeples  are 
lost  in  the  dark  sky;  in  the  centre  of  the  square  rises 
a  great  equestrian  statue  of  a  Liparian  emperor, 
gigantic  in  motionless  bronze,  stretching  one  arm, 
sword  in  hand,  over  the  petty  swarming  of  the 
crowd. 

Othomar  and  Herman  have  sent  their  three 
equerries,  Dutri,  Leoni  and  Von  Fest,  for  whom 
horses  have  been  found  and  saddled,  to  the  dyke, 
which  protects  a  whole  suburb  of  villas,  factories 
and  the  St.  Therezia  railway-station  against  the 
waters  of  the  Zanthos,  which  has  already  poured 
its  right  bank  over  the  country  and  is  drowning  it. 
The  princes  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  square  on 
the  steps  of  the  pedestal  of  the  statue;  they  would 
have  liked  to  go  on  farther,  but  the  mayor  himself 
has  begged  them  to  stay  where  they  are :  farther  on 
mortal  danger  threatens  at  every  moment.  .  .  .  All 
that  could  be  done  has  been  done;  there  is  nothing 
more  to  do  but  wait. 


34  MAJESTY 

Quarters  of  an  hour,  half-hours,  pass.  This 
waiting  for  terrible  news  calms  them;  they  hope 
afresh.  The  officers  ride  to  and  fro;  the  villas  and 
factories  yonder  are  deserted:  a  whole  town  lies 
empty,  forsaken.  Prince  Dutri,  turning  his  horse, 
which  he  has  ridden  out  of  breath,  assures  them 
that  the  embankment  will  hold  firm;  after  he  has 
spoken  with  the  princes,  he  is  surrounded:  it  is  the 
occupiers  of  the  villas,  the  manufacturers,  who  over- 
whelm him  with  questions,  fortified  by  the  self-assur- 
ance of  the  imperial  equerry.  Dutri  gallops  off 
once  more. 

Now  the  doors  of  the  church  are  opened  wide, 
quite  wide;  at  the  end  of  the  vista,  between  the 
pillars,  the  tiny  lights  glitter  on  the  altar;  a  pro- 
cession files  out  slowly:  a  mitred  bishop,  priests, 
acolytes,  singing  and  carrying  banners  and  swinging 
clouds  of  smoke  from  their  censers;  behind  the  up- 
raised crucifix,  the  relics  of  St.  Therezia,  in  their 
antique  shrine  of  medieval  gold  and  crystal  and 
precious  stones,  round  or  roughly  cut;  it  is  borne 
under  a  canopy  and  in  the  shimmering  gleam  of 
candles  it  glitters  and  sparkles  like  a  sacred  jewel, 
like  a  constellation,  across  that  sombre  square, 
through  that  black  night  of  disaster;  flicker  the  giant 
emeralds,  glitters  the  precious  chased  gold  and  be- 
fore the  Most  Holy  the  crowded  populace  draws 
back  on  either  side  and  falls  upon  its  knees.  This 
is  the  fifth  time  to-day  that  the  procession  goes  its 
round,  that  the  reliquary  is  borne  on  high,  to  ex- 
orcize the  calamity.  It  passes  the  statue,  the 
princes  kneel  down;  the  Latin  of  the  chant,  the 
gleam  of  the  relics  in  their  shrine,  the  cloud  of  the 


MAJESTY  35 

incense  pass  over  them  with   the  blessing  of  the 
bishop.  .  .  . 

The  procession  has  brought  stillness  to  the  square, 
but  a  murmur  now  approaches  as  from  afar.  .  .  . 
The  crowd  seems  to  surge  as  though  in  one  wave, 
nobody  is  now  kneeling;  the  very  procession  is 
broken  up  and  confused.  Through  the  throng 
rushes  the  report :  the  dyke  has  given  way !  .  .  . 

They  do  not  yet  believe  it;  but  suddenly  from 
above  the  fort  of  St.  Ladislas,  which  spreads  its 
ramparts  about  the  castle,  a  shot  thunders  out  and 
vibrates  over  the  black  city  and  shakes  through  the 
black  sky  as  though  its  rebound  were  breaking 
against  the  lowering  clouds.  A  second  shot  thun- 
ders after  it,  as  with  giant  cymbals  of  catastrophe, 
a  third  .  .  .  the  whole  town  knows  that  the  Zanthos 
has  broken  the  dyke. 

The  whole  square  is  in  confused  motion,  like  a 
swarm  of  ants;  troops  of  tardy  fugitives  still  come 
thronging  in,  poor  ones  now  and  indigent,  who  had 
not  been  able  to  fly  earlier,  who  had  been  still 
hoping;  through  the  crush  Prince  Dutri,  panting, 
cursing,  on  horseback,  terror  in  his  eyes,  strives  to 
reach  the  statue;  the  distant  murmur  as  of  a  sea 
comes  nearer  and  nearer.  Men  scatter  along  the 
streets,  on  foot  or  in  boats;  the  disordered  process- 
ion, with  the  glitter  of  its  reliquary,  seeming  to  reel 
on  the  billows  of  a  human  sea,  scatters  towards  the 
church. 

"Is  not  even  the  square  safe?"  asks  Othomar. 

He  can  hardly  speak,  his  chest  seems  cramped  as 
it  were  with  iron,  his  eyes  fill  with  tears,  an  immense 
despair  of  impotence  and  pity  suffuses  his  soul. 


36  MAJESTY 

The  mayor      .kes  his  head: 
'The  s       .e  lies  lower  than  the  suburbs,  high- 
ness; you  cannot  remain  here.     For  God's  sake  go 
back  to  the  Episcopal  in  a  boat !  .  .  ." 

But  the  princes  insist  on  remaining,  though  the 
murmur  grows  louder  and  louder. 

"  Go  into  the  church  in  that  case,  highnesses:  that 
is  the  only  safe  place  left,"  the  mayor  beseeches. 
"  I  beg  you,  for  God's  sake!  " 

The  square  is  already  swept  clean,  the  torch- 
bearers  lead  the  princes  to  the  steps  of  the  church; 
the  Zanthos  comes  billowing  on,  like  a  soft  thunder 
skimming  the  ground. 

Inside  the  church  the  organ  sounds;  they  sing, 
they  pray  all  .through  the  night.  And  the  whole 
night  long  everything  outside  remains  chaotically 
black,  gently  murmuring.  .  .  . 

When  the  fin  dawn  pales  over  the  sky,  which 
begins  in  the  distance  to  assume  tints  of  rose  and 
grey,  faint  opal  and  mother-of-pearl,  Othomar  and 
Herman  and  the  equerries  emerge  on  the  steps  of 
the  church. 

The  square  stands  under  water;  the  houses  rise 
out  of  the  water;  the  statue  of  Othomar  III.  waves 
its  bronze  arm  and  sword  over  a  lake  that  ripples 
in  the  morning  breeze. 

From  the  Therezia  Square  to  the  Cathedral 
Square  everything  lies  under  water. 


MAJESTY  37 


"  TO   HER  IMPERIAL  MAJESTY  THE   EMPRESS 
OF   LlPARIA 

"THE  EPISCOPAL, 

"  ALTARA, 
"—March,  18— . 
"  MY  ADORED  MOTHER, 

'  Your  letter  reproaches  me  with  not  writing  to 
you  two  days  ago,  without  delay;  forgive  me,  for 
my  thoughts  have  so  constantly  been  full  of  you. 
But  I  felt  so  tired  yesterday,  after  a  busy  day,  and 
I  lacked  the  strength  to  write  to  you  in  the  evening. 
Let  me  tell  you  now  of  my  experiences. 

'  You  describe  to  me  the  terrible  impression  pro- 
duced at  Lipara  by  the  telegram  from  here  about 
the  breach  in  the  Therezia  Dyke  and  how  none  slept 
at  the  Imperial.  We  too  were  up  all  night,  in  St. 
Therezia's  Church.  No  such  fearful  inundation  has 
been  remembered  for  fifty  years;  at  the  time  of  that 
which  my  father  remembers  in  his  childhood,  the 
Therezia  Square  was  not  flooded  and  the  water 
only  came  as  far,  they  say,  as  the  great  iron-factory. 

"  How  can  I  describe  to  you  what  I  felt  that 
night,  while  we  were  hoping  and  waiting,  hoping  in 
turn  that  God  and  His  Holy  Mother  would  ward  off 
this  disaster  from  us  and  waiting  for  the  catastrophe 
to  burst  forth!  We  stood  on  the  pedestal  of  the 
equestrian  statue,  unable  to  do  anything  more.  Oh, 
that  impotence  about  me,  that  impotence  within  me  ! 
I  kept  on  asking  myself  what  I  was  there  for,  if  I 
could  do  nothing  to  help  my  people.  Never  before, 


38  MAJESTY 

dearest  Mother,  have  I  felt  this  feeling  of  im- 
potence, of  inability  to  counteract  the  inevitable,  so 
possess  my  soul,  until  it  was  wholly  filled  with  de- 
spair; but  neither  have  I  ever  so  thoroughly  realized 
that  everything  in  life  has  its  two  sides,  that  the 
greatest  disaster  has  not  only  its  black  shadow  but 
also  its  bright  side,  for  never,  never  have  I  felt  so 
strongly  and  utterly,  through  my  despair,  the  love 
for  our  people,  a  thing  that  I  did  not  yet  know 
could  exist  in  our  hearts  as  a  truth,  as  I  then  felt 
it  quivering  all  through  me;  and  this  love  gave  me 
an  immense  melancholy  at  the  thought  that  all  of 
them,  the  millions  of  souls  of  our  empire,  will  never 
know,  or,  if  they  did  know,  believe  that  I  loved 
them  so,  loved  them  as  though  my  own  blood  ran 
in  their  veins.  Nor  do  I  wish  to  deceive  myself 
and  I  well  know  that  I  should  never  have  this  feeling 
at  Lipara,  but  I  have  it  here,  in  our  ancient  city, 
which  gives  us  all  her  sympathy.  I  feel  here  that 
I  myself  am  more  of  a  Slav,  like  our  Altarians,  than 
a  Latin,  like  our  southerners  in  Lipara  and  Thra- 
cyna;  I  feel  here  that  I  am  of  their  blood,  a  thing 
that  I  do  not  feel  yonder. 

"  No  doubt  much  has  been  said  and  written  in 
the  papers  about  the  want  of  tact  of  the  Marquis 
of  Dazzara,  with  his  foolish  guard-of-honour  at  the 
station  at  our  departure;  be  that  as  it  may,  I  felt 
great  sadness  in  the  train  to  think  that,  in  spite  of 
their  having  come  to  see  me  leave,  they  did  not  seem 
to  love  me.  I  know  you  will  again  disapprove  of 
this  as  false  sensitiveness  on  my  part,  but  I  cannot 
help  it,  my  dear  Mother:  I  am  like  that,  I  am 
hypersensitive  to  sympathy  in  general  and  to  the 


MAJESTY  39 

utterances  of  our  people  in  particular.  And  for 
that  reason  too  I  love  the  people  here,  very  simply 
and  childishly  perhaps,  because  they  show  that  they 
love  me :  enthusiasm  everywhere,  genuine,  unaffected 
enthusiasm  wherever  we-  go;  and  yet  what  are  we 
able  to  do  for  them,  except  give  them  money!  I 
find  this  sympathy  among  the  lowest:  workmen  and 
labourers  whom  I  had  never  seen  before  to  my  know- 
ledge and  to  whom  I  could  only  speak  three  or 
four  words  of  comfort  —  and  I  can  never  find  much 
else  to  say,  it  is  always  the  same  —  and  among  the 
soldiers,  although  they  must  feel  instinctively,  in 
spite  of  never  seeing  me  except  in  uniform,  that  I 
am  no  soldier  af  heart;  and  also  among  the  students, 
the  priests,  the  civic  authorities  and  the  higher 
functionaries.  Yesterday  we  went  round  every- 
where, to  all  the  places  appointed  as  refuges:  not 
only  the  barracks  and  shops  and  factories,  but  even 
some  of  the  rooms  at  the  law-courts,  two  of  the 
theatres  and  the  prison,  poor  souls!  And  also  St. 
Ladislas.  From  the  Round  Tower  we  had  a  view 
of  the  surrounding  country:  towards  the  east  there 
was  nothing  but  water  and  water,  like  a  sea.  My 
heart  felt  as  though  screwed  tight  into  my  breast. 

"  We  went  to  the  university  also.  I  remembered 
most  of  the  professors  from  two  years  ago,  when 
I  was  here  as  an  undergraduate. 

"  It  was  a  terrible  scene  outside  the  town.  Gh, 
Mamma,  there  were  hundreds,  there  were  thousands 
of  corpses,  laid  out  side  by  side  on  a  meadow,  as 
in  a  mortuary,  before  the  burial,  for  identification! 
I  saw  harrowing  scenes,  my  heart  was  torn  asunder: 
troops  of  relations  who  sought  or  who,  sobbing,  had 


40  MAJESTY 

found.  A  terrible  air  of  woe  filled  the  whole  at- 
mosphere. I  felt  sick  and  turned  quite  pale,  it  re- 
quired all  my  energy  to  prevent  myself  from  faint- 
ing, but  Herman  put  his  arm  through  mine  and  sup- 
ported me  as  well  as  he  was  able  without  ostentation, 
while  a  couple  of  doctors  from  among  the  group 
of  physiqians  to  whom  I  was  speaking  gave  me 
something  to  smell.  Oh,  Mamma,  it  was  a  terrible 
spectacle,  all  those  pallid,  shapeless,  swollen  corpses, 
on  the  green  grass,  and,  above,  the  sky,  which  had 
become  deep  blue  again! 

"  I  have  informed  the  municipal  council,  in  ac- 
cordance with  your  wish  and  my  father's,  that  you 
are  each  of  you  presenting  a  personal  donation  of  a 
million  florins  and  I  presented  my  own  at  the  same 
time.  The  whole  world  seems  in  sympathy  with 
us;  money  is  flowing  in  from  every  side,  but  the 
damage  is  like  a  pit  that  cannot  be  filled  up.  As 
you  say,  the  donation  of  our  Syrian  friends  is  truly 
princely  and  oriental. 

"  What  more  have  I  to  tell  you?  I  really  do  not 
know;  my  brain  is  confused  with  a  nightmare  of 
ghastly  visions  and  I  have  difficulty  in  thinking 
logically.  But  I  promise  you,  my  dear  Mother,  to 
do  what  I  can  and  to  do  it  with  all  my  might;  and 
all  I  ask  is  that  you  will  send  me  a  single  word  to 
tell  me  that  you  are  not  too  dissatisfied  with  your 
boy. 

"  As  my  father  desires,  I  will  stay  here  another 
week;  it  seems  to  do  the  people  good  to  see  us, 
they  love  us  so.  They  were  enraptured  when  it 
was  announced  that  after  my  departure  you  and 
Thera  were  coming  to  Altara.  .  You  with  your  soft 


MAJESTY  41 

hand  will  be  able  to  do  so  much  that  we  have 
omitted.  How  they  do  love  us  here !  And  why 
are  we  not  always  at  St.  Ladislas?  Though  the 
fortress  is  sombre,  it  is  bright  with  their  sympathy. 

"  But  do  not  let  me  write  to  you  so  poetically  in 
these  distressful  days,  in  which  we  should  be  pract- 
ical. Herman's  society  does  me  a  deal  of  good  and 
I  can  do  more  when  he  is  by  my  side.  General 
Ducardi  is  a  fine,  indefatigable  fellow,  as  always. 
The  others  have  all  been  very  willing  and  practical; 
and,  if  I  may  be  allowed  respectfully  to  differ  from 
my  Father,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  municipal 
council  does  what  it  can.  It  is  true,  an  English 
engineer  told  me  that  with  better  precautions  and  a 
more  thorough  supervision  the  Therezia  Dyke 
would  perhaps  have  held  out;  however,  I  don't  know. 

"  Herman  will  accompany  me  on  my  journey 
through  the  provinces.  We  shall  go  to  Lycilia  and 
Vaza  and  so  far  as  possible  to  the  lowlands.  These 
are  of  course  in  the  worst  case. 

"  I  have  just  received  the  telegrams :  the  Mar- 
quis of  Dazzara  dismissed  and  the  Duke  of  Mena- 
Doni  - —  I  don't  like  that  man  —  governor  of  the 
capital!  Lipara  under  martial  law!  And  will  my 
father  succeed  in  preserving  our  house  of  peers  by 
this  dissolution  of  the  house  of  deputies? 

"  Dearest  Mother,  his  eminence  has  just  sent  to 
ask  me  to  receive  him.  I  do  not  want  to  keep  him 
waiting  and  therefore  close  my  letter  hurriedly; 
with  a  fond  embrace,  I  am,  with  fondest  and  most 
respectful  love, 

"  your  own  boy, 

"  OTHOMAR." 


CHAPTER  II 


THE  Province  of  Vaza  also,  lying  to  the  north  of 
the  Altara  Highlands,  the  Alpine  range  of  the 
Gigants,  was  harassed  in  parts  by  the  Zanthos.  The 
capital,  Vaza,  was  flooded.  In  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  mountain-slopes  the  province  had  been  spared. 
There  vast  terraces  of  vineyards  lay,  alternating 
with  forests  of  chestnut-trees  and  walnut-trees  and 
olives.  The  glittering  white  snow-line  of  the  mount- 
ain-tops surged  up  against  a  dazzling  blue  sky, 
piercing  it  with  its  crests  and  biting  long  pieces  out 
of  the  deep  azure  in  ragged  lines;  it  seemed  to 
whet  ice-teeth,  gleaming  white  fangs,  against  the 
metal  of  the  firmament,  which  was  like  burnished 
steel.  There,  enthroned  on  its  rocks,  twelve  miles 
from  the  town,  stood  old  Castel  Vaza,  the  castle  of 
the  dukes  of  Yemena  and  counts  of  Vaza,  sur- 
rounded by  parks  and  woods,  half  castle,  half  citadel, 
strong,  simple,  medieval,  rough  in  outline,  with  its 
four  towers  and  its  square  patches  of  battlements, 
rounding  off  the  horizon  about  it  on  every  side  and 
keeping  it  aloof.  Near  at  hand,  a  swarm  of  little 
villages;  in  the  distance,  the  towers  and  steeples,  the 
huddled  roofs  of  Vaza;  still  farther,  in  the  circle 
of  panorama  that  broadly  girt  the  towers,  the  wide 
Zanthos,  winding  down  to  hurl  itself  into  the  sea, 

and  Lycilia,  white  in  the  sun  with  its  little  squares 

42 


MAJESTY  43 

of  houses,  set  brilliantly  on  the  blue  of  the  water; 
then  a  second  sea :  the  mountain-tops,  surging  away 
in  snowy  vistas  and  distant  mists.  And,  also  glit- 
tering in  the  sun,  those  strange  lakes  on  the  Zanthos : 
the  water  which  the  full  river  had  vomited,  the 
inundations.  .  .  . 

The  square  castle,  enclosing  a  courtyard  in  its 
four  wings,  has  two  more  wings  added  at  the  back, 
in  a  newer  style  of  more  elegant  renascence,  and 
looking  on  the  park,  in  which  lie  the  ornamental 
basins,  like  oval  dishes  of  liquid  silver,  set  in  em- 
erald lawns.  The  fallow  deer  graze  there,  dream- 
ing, as  it  were,  and  graceful,  roaming  slowly  on 
slim  legs:  sometimes,  suddenly,  extending  them- 
selves, their  heads  thrown  back,  their  eyes  wild, 
they  run  some  distance,  a  number  of  them,  fleeing 
before  an  unseen  terror;  others,  calmer,  graze  on, 
laconically,  philosophically. 

The  dukes  of  Yemena  and  counts  of  Vaza  are 
one  of  the  oldest  families  of  the  empire;  and  their 
ancestral  tree  is  rooted  ages  back,  before  the  time 
of  the  first  emperor  of  Liparia.  The  present  duke, 
court-marshal  and  Constable  of  Liparia,  has  three 
children  of  his  first  marriage:  the  heir  to  his  title, 
the  young  Marquis  of  Xardi,  aide-de-camp  to  the 
emperor,  and  two  daughters,  younger,  girls  still, 
at  a  convent. 

The  duchess  is  alone  at  the  castle.  She  is  sitting 
in  a  large  boudoir,  built  out  with  a  triangular  loggia, 
and  looking  over  the  park,  the  basins,  the  deer.  A 
breeze  is  blowing  outside;  and  the  rapid  clouds, 
which,  like  flaky  spectres,  like  rags  hidden  beneath 


44  MAJESTY 

diaphanous  veils,  chase  one  another  through  the 
clear  blue  sky,  trail  their  shadows,  like  quick  eclipses, 
across  the  park,  just  tinting  it  with  passing  darkness, 
which  darkens  the  deer  in  their  turn  and  then  makes 
them  gleam  brown  again  in  the  sun.  It  is  silent 
outside;  it  is  silent  in  the  castle.  The  castle  stands 
secluded;  within,  the  servants  move  softly  through 
the  reception-rooms  and  corridors,  speaking  in 
whispers,  in  expectation  of  the  august  visitors. 

Lunch  is  over.  The  duchess  lies  half-out- 
stretched on  a  couch  and  gazes  at  the  deer.  She 
is  not  yet  dressed  and  wears  a  tea-gown,  loose,  with 
many  folds:  vieux  rose  broche,  salmon-coloured 
plush  and  old  lace.  When  she  is  alone,  she  likes 
plenty  of  light,  from  a  healthy  need  of  space  and 
air;  the  curtains  are  drawn  aside  from  the  tall  bow- 
windows  and  the  shrillness  of  the  spring  sky  comes 
streaming  in.  But  the  light  does  not  suit  her 
beauty;  for,  though  her  hair  is  still  raven  black,  her 
complexion  has  the  dullness  of  faded  white  roses; 
her  eyes,  which  can  be  beautiful,  large,  liquid  and 
dark,  look  full  of  lassitude,  encircled  with  pale- 
yellow  shadows;  and  very  clearly  visible  are  the 
little  wrinkles  at  the  side,  the  little  grooves  etched 
around  the  delicate  nose,  the  lines  that  have  length- 
ened the  mouth  and  draw  it  down. 

The  duchess  rises  slowly;  she  passes  through  a 
door  that  leads  to  her  bedroom  and  dressing-room 
and  stays  away  for  a  few  moments.  Then  she 
returns;  in  both  hands,  pressing  it  to  her,  with 
difficulty,  she  carries  an  obviously  heavy  casket  and 
sets  it  on  the  table  in  front  of  the  couch.  The 
casket  is  of  old  wrought  silver  enriched  with  gilt 


MAJESTY  45 

chasing  and  great  blue  turquoises,  of  that  costly 
renascence  work  which  is  not  made  nowadays.  She 
selects  a  little  straight,  gold  key  from  her  bracelet 
and  unlocks  the  casket.  The  jewels  glisten  — 
pearls,  brilliants,  sapphires,  emeralds  —  and  catch 
in  their  facets  all  the  spring  light  of  the  sky,  blue, 
white  and  yellow.  But  the  duchess  presses  a  spring 
unclosing  a  secret  drawer,  from  which  she  takes  two 
packets  of  letters  and  some  photographs. 

The  photographs  all  show  the  face  of  a  man  no 
longer  young,  a  strange  face,  half-dreamy,  half- 
sensual,  filled  with  great  mystery  and  great  charm. 
The  photographs  show  him  in  the  elaborate  uni- 
form of  an  officer  of  the  throne-guards,  in  fancy- 
dress  as  a  medieval  knight,  in  flannels  and  in  ordi- 
nary mufti.  The  duchess'  eyes  pass  slowly  from 
one  to  the  other;  she  compares  the  likenesses,  a  sad 
smile  about  her  mouth  and  melancholy  in  her  eyes. 
Then  she  unties  the  ribbons  of  the  letters,  takes 
them  out  of  the  carefully  preserved  envelopes,  un- 
folds them  and  reads  here  and  there  and  reads 
again  and  refolds  them.  .  .  . 

She  knows  by  heart  the  phrases  that  still  tell  her 
of  a  strange  passion,  the  most  fervent,  the  truest, 
the  simplest  and  perhaps  for  that  reason  the 
strangest  that  she  has  ever  felt,  that  has  surrounded 
her  with  fairy  meshes  of  fire.  Though  her  eyes 
look  out  again  at  the  deer  —  the  sunshine  streams 
like  fluid  gold  over  the  park  —  between  her  and  the 
peaceful  landscape  there  rise  up,  transparent,  in 
tenderly  gleaming  phantasmagorias,  remembrances 
of  the  past,  the  pictures  of  that  love,  and  it  seems 
to  her  as  though  sparks  are  dancing  before  her  eyes, 


46  MAJESTY 

as  though  brilliant  curves  and  scintillations  of  light 
are  swarming  on  every  hand.  She  lives  through 
past  events  in  a  few  moments;  then  she  closes  her 
eyes,  draws  her  hand  over  her  forehead  and  thinks 
how  sad  it  is  that  the  past  is  nothing  more  than  a 
little  memory,  which  flies  like  dust  and  ashes  through 
our  souls  which  we  sometimes  endeavour,  in  vain, 
to  collect  in  a  costly  urn.  How  sad  it  is  that  one 
cannot  go  on  mourning,  though  one  wish  to,  because 
life  does  not  permit  it!  Nothing  but  that  dust  and 
ashes  in  her  soul  .  .  .  and  those  letters,  those  pho- 
tographs. .  .  . 

She  locks  them  away  again  and  now  gazes  at  the 
jewels.  And  she  looks  well  into  her  own  heart, 
sees  herself  exactly  as  she  is,  for  she  knows  that  she 
has  been  loyal,  always,  loyal  to  him  and  to  herself: 
loyal  when  their  love  broke  like  a  glittering  rainbow 
of  sparkling  colours  on  a  wide  firmament  and  she 
became  unwilling  to  see  or  to  exist  and  withdrew 
from  the  court  into  this  castle  and  let  it  be  rumoured 
that  a  lingering  illness  was  causing  her  to  pine  away. 
And  she  mourned  and  mourned,  first  sobbing  and 
wringing  her  hands,  then  calmer  in  despair,  then 
.  .  .  The  deer  had  gone  on  grazing  there,  as  though 
they  always  remained  unchanged.  But  she  .  .  . 

She  had  been  loyal,  always:  in  her  despair  and 
also  in  what  followed,  in  the  abatement  of  that 
despair.  Then  she  was  saddest  of  all,  because 
despair  was  able  to  abate.  Then  sad,  because  she 
still  lived  and  felt  vitality  within  her.  Then  .  .  . 
because  she  began  to  grow  bored.  Because  of  all 
this,  a  great  despair  had  filled  her  strange  soul, 


MAJESTY  47 

luxuriantly,  as  with  the  morbid  blossoms  of  strange 
orchids.  She  hated,  despised,  cursed  herself.  But 
nothing  changed  in  her.  She  was  bored. 

She  led  a  solitary  life  at  the  castle.  Her  husband 
and  her  stepson  were  at  Lipara;  her  stepdaughters, 
to  whom  she  was  much  attached,  were  finishing  their 
education  at  a  convent,  of  which  an  imperial  princess, 
a  sister  of  the  emperor,  was  abbess. 

She  was  alone,  she  never  saw  anybody.  And 
she  was  bored.  Life  awoke  in  her  anew,  for  it 
had  only  slumbered,  she  had  deemed  it  dead,  had 
wished  to  bury  it  in  a  sepulchre  around  which  her 
memories  shcfuld  stand  as  statues.  Within  herself, 
she  felt  herself  to  be  what  she  had  always  been,  in 
spite  of  all  her  love :  a  woman  of  the  world,  hanker- 
ing after  the  glamour  of  imperial  surroundings,  that 
court  splendour  which  fatally  reattracts  and  is  in- 
dispensable to  those  who  have  inhaled  it  from  their 
birth  as  their  vital  air.  And,  at  moments  when  she 
was  not  thinking  of  her  despair,  she  thought  of  the 
Imperial,  saw  herself  there,  brilliant  in  her  ripe 
beauty,  made  much  of  and  adored  as  she  had  always 
been. 

Then  she  caused  her  stepson,  the  Marquis  of 
Xardi,  to  spread  the  rumour  that  she  was  con- 
valescent. A  month  later,  in  the  middle  of  the 
winter  season,  after  a  great  court  festival  but  before 
one  of  the  intimate  assemblies  in  the  empress'  own 
apartments,  she  requested  an  audience  of  Elizabeth. 

Thus  she  beheld  herself  in  true,  clear  truth  and 
was  deeply  mournful  in  her  poor  soul  filled  with 
desire  of  love  and  desire  of  the  world  and  humanity, 
because  life  insisted  on  continuing  so  cruelly,  as  in  a 


48  MAJESTY 

mad  triumphal  progress,  crushing  her  memories 
under  its  chariot-wheels,  clattering  through  her 
melancholy  with  its  trumpet-blasts,  making  her  see 
the  paltriness  of  mankind,  the  pettiness  of  its  feel- 
ing, the  littleness  of  its  soul,  which  is  nevertheless 
the  only  thing  it  has.  .  .  . 

The  duchess  locks  the  twice-precious  casket  away 
again.  She  forgets  what  is  going  on  about  her, 
what  is  awaiting  her;  she  gazes,  dreams  and  lives 
again  in  the  past,  with  the  enjoyment  which  a  woman 
finds  in  the  past  when  she  loses  her  youth. 

There  is  a  knock  at  the  door,  a  footman  appears 
and  bows: 

"  Excellency,  the  cook  begs  urgently  to  be  allowed 
to  speak  to  you  in  person.  .  .  ." 

"The  cook?  .  .  ." 

She  raises  her  beautiful  face,  dreaming,  half- 
laughing,  with  its  profile  like  Cleopatra's,  so  Egypt- 
ian in  its  delicacy  and  symmetry,  settles  herself  a 
little  higher  on  the  couch  and  leans  on  her  hand: 

"  Let  him  come  in.   .  .  ." 

Everything  returns  to  her,  reality,  the  actual  day; 
and  she  smiles  because  of  it  and  shrugs  her  should- 
ers: such  is  life. 

The  footman  goes  out;  the  cook  enters  in  his 
white  apron  and  white  cap :  he  is  nervous  and,  now 
that  his  mistress  is  already  frowning  her  eyebrows 
because  of  his  disrespectful  costume,  he  begins  to 
stammer : 

"  Forgive  me,  excellency.  .  .  ." 

And  he  points  with  an  unhappy  face  to  his  apron, 
his  white  sleeves.  .  .  . 


MAJESTY  49 

And  he  complains  that  the  head  gamekeeper  has 
not  provided  sufficient  ortolans.  He  cannot  make 
his  pasty;  he  dares  not  take  it  upon  himself,  excel- 
lency. 

She  looks  at  him  with  her  sphinx-like  eyes;  she  has 
a  great  inclination  to  burst  out  laughing  at  his 
comical  face,  his  despairing  gestures,  his  outstretched 
arms,  to  laugh  and  also  to  cry  wildly  and  loudly. 

"  What  are  we  to  do,  excellency,  what  are  we 
to  do?" 

The  town  is  too  far  away;  there  is  no  time  to 
send  there  before  dinner  and,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
they  never  have  anything  in  the  town.  Besides,  it 
is  really  the  steward's  fault,  excellency;  the  steward 
should  have  told  her  excellency.  .  .  . 

"  There  are  larks,"  she  says. 

"  Those  were  to  go  to  Lipara  to-morrow,  excel- 
lency, to  his  excellency  the  duke !  " 

The  duchess  shrugs  her  shoulders,  laughing  a 
little : 

"  It  can't  be  helped,  my  friend.  His  imperial 
highness  the  Duke  of  Xara  comes  before  his  ex- 
cellency, does  he  not?  Make  a  chaufroid  of  larks." 

Yes,  that  is  what  he  had  thought  of  doing,  but 
he  had  not  ventured  to  suggest  it.  Yes,  that  would 
do  very  well,  admirably,  excellency. 

She  gives  another  little  laugh  and  then  nods,  to 
say  that  he  can  go.  The  cook,  evidently  relieved, 
bows  and  disappears.  She  rises,  looks  at  herself 
in  a  mirror  as  she  stands  erect  in  her  lazily  creased 
folds  of  pink  and  salmon-colour  and  old  lace, 
stretches  her  arms  with  a  gesture  of  utter  fatigue 
and  rings  for  her  maid,  after  which  she  enters  her 


50  MAJESTY 

dressing-room.  Does  she  want  to  laugh  again  .  .  . 
or  to  cry  again?  She  does  not  know;  but  she  does 
know  that  she  has  to  get  dressed.  .  .  .  Whatever 
confront  a  person,  love  or  ortolan-pasty,  that  per- 
son must  dress,  must  dress  and  eat  and  sleep  .  .  . 
and  after  that  the  same  again:  dress  .  .  .  and  eat 
.  .  .  and  sleep.  .  .  . 


Three  carriages,  with  postillions,  bring  Othomar, 
Herman  and  the  others  along  the  broad,  winding, 
switchback  road  to  Castel  Vaza.  It  is  five  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon;  the  weather  is  mild  and  sunny, 
but  not  warm:  a  fresh  breeze  is  blowing.  The 
landscape  is  wide  and  noble;  with  each  turn  of  the 
road  come  changes  in  the  panorama  of  snow-clad 
mountains.  The  country  is  luxuriantly  beautiful. 
The  little  villages  through  which  they  drive  look 
prosperous :  they  are  the  duke's  property.  Between 
Vaza  and  the  castle  the  land  has  been  spared  by  the 
water :  the  overflowing  of  the  Zanthos  has  inundated 
rather  the  eastern  district.  It  is  difficult  here  to 
think  constantly  of  that  dreadful  flood  and  of  the 
condition  of  Lipara  yonder,  which  the  emperor  has 
proclaimed  in  state  of  siege.  It  is  so  beautiful 
here,  so  full  of  spring  life;  and  the  sunset  after  a 
fine,  summery  day  is  here  devoid  of  sadness.  The 
chestnut-trees  waft  their  fresh  green  fans;  and  the 
sky  is  still  like  mother-of-pearl,  though  a  dust  of 
twilight  is  beginning  to  hover  over  it.  A  lively 
conversation  is  in  progress-  betwe'en  the  princes, 
Ducardi  and  Von  Fest,  who  sit  in  the  first  carriage : 


MAJESTY  51 

they  talk  with  animation,  laugh  and  are  amused  be- 
cause the  villagers  sometimes,  of  course,  salute 
them,  as  visitors  to  the  castle,  with  a  touch  of  the 
cap  or  a  kindly  nod,  but  do  not  know  who  they  are. 
Prince  Herman  nods  to  a  handsome  young  peasant- 
girl,  who  stays  staring  after  them  open-mouthed,  and 
recalls  the  delightful  big-game  hunt  last  year  when 
he  was  the  duke's  guest,  together  with  the  emperor 
and  Othomar.  They  did  not  see  the  duchess  that 
time :  she  was  unwell.  .  .  .  General  Ducardi  tells 
anecdotes  about  the  war  of  fifteen  years  ago. 

And  they  all  find  some  difficulty  in  fixing  their1 
faces  in  official  folds  when,  they  drive  through  the 
old,  escutcheoned  gate  over  the  lowered  drawbridge 
into  the  long  carriage-drive  and  are  received  by  the 
chamberlain  in  the  inner  courtyard  of  the  castle. 
This  is  prescribed  by  etiquette.  The  duchess  must 
not  show  herself  before  the  chamberlain,  surrounded 
by  the  duke's  whole  household,  has  bidden  the 
Duke  of  Xara  welcome  in  the  name  of  his  absent 
master  and  offered  the  crown-prince  a  telegram  from 
Lipara,  which  the  steward  hands  him  on  a  silver 
tray.  This  telegram  is  from  the  Duke  of  Yemena ; 
it  says  that  his  service  and  that  of  his  son,  the 
Marquis  of  Xardi,  about  the  person  of  his  majesty 
the  emperor,  the  Duke  of  Xara's  most  gracious 
father,  prevent  them  from  being  there  to  receive 
their  beloved  crown-prince  in  their  castle,  but  that 
they  beg  his  imperial  highness  to  look  upon  the 
house  as  his.  The  prince  reads  the  telegram  and 
hands  it  to  his  aide-de-camp,  the  Count  of  Thesbia. 
Then,  conducted  by  the  chamberlain,  he  ascends  the 
steps  and  enters  the  hall. 


52  MAJESTY 

Notwithstanding  that  it  is  still  daylight  outside, 
the  hall  is  brilliantly  lighted  and  resembles  a  forest 
full  of  palm-trees  and  broad-leaved  ornamental 
plants.  The  duchess  steps  towards  the  crown-prince 
and  breaks  the  line  of  her  graciousness  in  a  deep 
curtsey.  He  has  seen  her  bow  like  this  before.  But 
perhaps  she  is  still  handsomer  in  this  plain  black 
velvet  gown  and  Venetian  lace,  cut  very  low,  her 
splendid  bosom  exposed,  white  with  the  grain  of 
Carrara  marble,  her  statuesque  arms  bare,  a  heavy 
train  behind  her  like  a  wave  of  ink;  a  small  ducal 
coronet  of  brilliants  and  emeralds  in  her  hair,  which 
is  also  black,  with  a  gold-blue  raven's  glow. 

She  bids  the  princes  welcome.  Othomar  offers 
her  his  arm.  Prince  Herman  and  the  equerries 
follow  them  up  the  colossal  staircase,  through  the 
hedge  of  flunkeys,  who  stand  motionless  with  fixed 
eyes  that  do  not  seem  to  see.  Then  through  a  row 
of  lighted  rooms  and  galleries  to  a  great  reception- 
room,  glittering  with  light  from  the  costly  rock- 
crystal  chandelier,  in  which  the  candle-light  corus- 
cates and  casts  expansive  gleams  and  shimmers  over 
the  marble  mosaic  of  the  floor  and  along  the  de- 
corative mirrors,  in  their  frames  of  heavy  Louis-XV. 
arabesques,  and  the  paintings  by  renascence  masters 
on  the  walls. 

A  momentary  standing  reception  is  held,  a  minia- 
ture court:  in  their  dazzling  uniforms  —  for  it  was 
a  delightful,  though  long  drive  from  Vaza  and  the 
men  had  had  time  to  change  into  their  full-dress 
uniforms  in  the  town  —  the  equerries  and  aides 
come,  one  after  the  other,  to  kiss  the  duchess'  hand; 
except;  the  Gothlandic  officers,  she  knows  them  all, 


MAJESTY  53 

nearly  all  intimately;  she  is  able  to  speak  an  almost 
familiar  word  to  each  of  them,  while  the  gold  of 
her  voice  melts  between  her  laughing  lips  and  her 
great,  Egyptian  eyes  look  out,  strangely  dreaming. 
So  she  stands  for  a  moment  as  a  most  adorable 
hostess  between  the  two  princes,  she,  a  woman, 
alone  among  these  officers  who  surround  them,  in  the 
midst  of  a  cross-fire  of  compliments  and  badinage 
that  sparkles  around  them  all.  Then  the  steward 
appears,  while  the  doors  open  out  and  the  table  is 
revealed  brightly  glittering,  and  bows  before  his 
mistress  as  a  sign  that  she  is  served.  The  duchess 
takes  the  crown-prince'  arm;  the  gentlemen  follow. 
The  dinner  is  very  lively.  They  are  an  intimate 
circle,  people  accustomed  to  meet  one  another 
every  day.  The  duchess  sees  that  an  easy  tone  is 
preserved,  one  of  light  familiarity,  which  restrains 
itself  before  the  crown-prince,  yet  gives  a  suggestion 
of  the  somewhat  cavalier  roughness  and  sans-gene 
that  is  the  fashionable  tone  at  court.  The  Goth- 
landic  officers  are  evidently  not  in  the  secret;  Von 
Fest,  a  giant  of  a  fellow,  looks  right  and  left  and 
smiles.  For  the  rest,  the  duchess  possesses  this 
smart,  informal  manner  in  a  very  strong  degree,  but 
moderates  herself  now,  although  she  does  some- 
times lean  both  her  shapely  elbows  on  the  table. 
The  crown-prince  once  more  has  that  indescribable 
stiffness  which  makes  things  freeze  around  him;  the 
ease  which  he  displayed  at  Altara  has  again  made 
way  for  something  almost  constrained  and  at  the 
same  time  haughty;  his  smiles  for  the  duchess  are 
forced;  and  the  handsome  hostess  in  her  heart  thinks 
her  illustrious  guest  an  insufferable  prig. 


54  MAJESTY 

Possibly  Othomar  behaves  as  he  does  because  of 
the  conversations,  which  all  focus  themselves  about 
the  duchess  and  concern  the  gossip  of  the  Imperial; 
the  inundations  are  hardly  mentioned;  hardly  either 
the  state  of  siege  in  the  capital;  only  a  single  word 
now  and  again  recalls  them.  But  for  the  greater 
part  all  this  seems  to  be  forgotten,  here,  in  these 
delightful  surroundings,  at  this  excellent  dinner, 
under  the  froth  of  the  soft  gold  lycilian  from  the 
duke's  private  vineyard.  This  lycilian  is  celebrated 
and  they  also  celebrate  it  now  :  even  the  crown-prince 
touches  glasses  with  the  duchess  with  a  courteous 
word  or  two,  which  he  utters  very  ordinarily,  but 
which  they  seem  to  think  a  most  witty  compliment, 
for  they  all  laugh  with  flattering  approbation,  with 
glances  of  intelligence;  and  the  duchess  herself  no 
longer  thinks  him  so  insufferable,  but  beams  upon 
him  with  her  full  and  radiant  laugh.  But  what  has 
he  said?  He  is  astounded  at  himself  and  at  their 
laughter.  He  intended  nothing  but  a  commonplace  ; 


^ 

But  he  remembers:  it  is  always  like  that;  and 
he  now  understands.  And  he  thinks  them  feeble 
and  turns  to  Ducardi  and  Von  Fest;  he  forces  the 
conversation  and  suddenly  begins  to  talk  volubly 
about  the  condition  of  the  town  of  Vaza,  which  also 
has  suffered  greatly.  Then  about  Altara.  He 
gives  the  duchess  a  long  description  of  the  bursting 
of  the  Therezia  Dyke.  The  duchess  thinks  him  a 
queer  boy;  for  an  instant  she  fancies  that  he  is 
posing;  then  she  decides  that  for  some  reason  or 
other  he  is  a  little  shy;  then  she  thinks  that  he  has 
fine,  soft  eyes,  looking  up  like  that  under  his  eyelids, 


MAJESTY  55 

and  that  he  has  a  pleasant  way  of  telling  things. 
She  turns  right  round  to  him,  forgets  the  officers 
around  her,  asks  questions  and,  with  her  elbows  on 
the  table  and  a  goblet  of  lycilian  in  her  hand,  she 
listens  attentively,  hangs  on  the  young  imperial  lips 
and  feels  an  emotion.  This  emotion  comes  because 
he  is  so  young  and  august  and  has  those  eyes  and 
that  voice.  She  is  attracted  by  his  hands,  with  their 
broad,  delicate  shape,  as  of  an  old  strength  of  race 
that  is  wearing  out;  she  notices  that  he  looks  now 
and  then  at  his  ring.  And,  becoming  serious,  she 
talks  of  the  dreadful  times,  of  all  those  thousands 
of  poor  people  without  a  roof  over  their  heads, 
without  anything.  .  .  .  This  is,  however,  only  the 
second  moment  that  she  has  thought  of  those  thou- 
sands; the  first  was  that  short  half-hour  when  the 
duke's  chaplain  was  asking  her  for  money  and  how 
she  wished  it  bestowed.  .  .  .  She  remembers  that, 
at  the  time  of  t.his  conversation  with  the  chaplain, 
a  cutter  from  Worth's  was  waiting  for  her  to  try 
on  the  very  dress  which  she  is.  now  wearing  and  she 
thinks  that  life's  accidents  are  really  most  interest- 
ing. She  knows,  in  her  inner  consciousness,  that  this 
philosophy  is  as  the  froth  of  champagne  and  she 
herself  laughs  at  it.  Then  she  again  listens  at- 
tentively to  Othomar,  who  is  still  telling  of  the 
nocturnal  watch  in  St.  Therezia's  Church.  The 
officers  have  grown  quiet  and  are  listening  too.  His 
imperial  highness  has  made  himself  the  centre  of 
conversation  and  dethroned  the  duchess.  She  has 
noticed  this  too,  thinks  it  strange  of  him  but  nice, 
above  all  does  not  know  what  she  wants  of  him  and 
is  charmed. 


$6  MAJESTY 


After  dinner  a  cosy  gathering  in  two  small 
drawing-rooms.  One  of  them  contains  a  billiard- 
table;  and  the  duchess  herself,  gracefully  pointing 
her  cue,  which  she  holds  in  her  jewelled  fingers, 
plays  a  game  with  Prince  Herman,  Leoni  and  young 
Thesbia.  Sometimes,  in,  aiming,  she  hangs  over 
the  green  table  with  an  incredible  -suppleness  in  her 
Heavy  lines;  and  the  beautiful  Carrara  breast  heaves 
the  Venetian  lace  and  the  black  velvet  up  and  down 
at  each  rapid  movement.  In  the  other  room,  under 
a  lamp  of  draped  lace,  Othomar  and  General  Du- 
cardi  and  the  Gothlandic  equerries  are  attentively 
engaged  in  studying  on  an  accurately  detailed  ord- 
nance-map the  route  wl;ich  they  are  to  follow  to- 
morrow on  horseback  to  the  inundated  villages. 
The  steward  and  a  footman  go  round  with  coffee 
and  liqueurs. 

When  the  game  of  billiards  is  over,  the  duchess 
comes  into  the  next  room  with  her  gentlemen,  laugh- 
ing merrily.  The  prince  and  his  officers  look  up, 
politely  smiling,  from  their  map,  but  she,  bewitch- 
ingly : 

"  Oh,  don't  let  me  disturb  you,  highness !  .  .  ." 

She  takes  Dutri's  arm  for  a  stroll  on  the  terrace 
outside.  The  doors  are  open,  the  weather  is  de- 
licious: it  is  a  little  cool.  The  steward  hangs  a  fur 
cloak  over  her  bare  shoulders.  On  the  long  terrace 
outside  she  walks  with  Dutri  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro, 
constantly  passing  the  open  doors  and  as  constantly 
throwing  a  glance  to  the  group  under  the  lamp: 


MAJESTY  57 

bent  heads  and  fingers  that  point  with  a  pencil. 
Her  step  is  light  on  the  arm  of  the  elegant  equerry; 
her  train  rustles  gaily  behind  her.  She  talks  viva- 
ciously, asks  Dutri: 

"  How  are  you  enjoying  your  tour?  " 

"  Bored  to  death !  Nothing  and  nobody  amusing, 
except  the  primate's  secretary!  .  .  .  Those  Goth- 
landers  are  bores  and  so  terribly  provincial !  And 
it's  tiring  too,  all  this  toiling  about!  You  see,  I 
look  upon  it  as  war  and  so  1  manage  to  carry  on; 
if  I  were  to  look  upon  it  as  times  of  peace,  I  should 
never  pull  through.  Fortunately  our  reception  has 
been  tolerably  decent  everywhere.  Oh,  there  is 
no  doubt  the  crown-prince  is  making  himself  popu- 
lar .  .  ." 

"  A  nice  boy,"  she  says,  interrupting  him.  "  I 
had  hardly  seen  him  for  a  long  time  since,  when  he 
was  studying  at  Altara;  after  that  I  only  remember 
seeing  him  once  or  twice  at  the  Imperial,  shot  up 
from  a  child  like  an  asparagus-stalk  and  yet  a  mere 
lad.  I  remember  it  still:  he  flushed  when  I  curt- 
seyed to  him.  Then  again  lately,  at  Myxila's.  .  .  ." 

Dutri  is  very  familiar  with  the  duchess:  he  calls 
her  by  her  Christian  name,  he  always  flirts  with  her 
a  little,  to  amuse  himself,  from  swagger,  without 
receiving  any  further  favours;  they  know  each  other 
too  well,  they  have  been  in  each  other's  confidence 
too  long  and  she  looks  upon  him  more  as  a  cavaliere 
servente  for  trifling  services  and  little  court  intrigues 
than  as  one  for  whom  she  could  ever  feel  any  sort 
of  "  emotion." 

"  Ma  chere  Alexa,  take  care !  "  says  he,  wagging 
his  finger  at  her. 


58  MAJESTY 

"Why?"  she  retorts,  defiantly. 

11  As  if  I  did  not  see.  .  .  ." 

She  laughs  aloud : 

"  See  what  you  please !  "  she  exclaims,  indiffer- 
ently, with  her  voice  of  rough  sans-gene,  which  is 
in  fashion.  "  No,  my  dear  Dutri,  you  needn't  warn 
me,  I  assure  you!  Why,  my  dear  boy,  I  have  two 
girls  to  bring  out  next  year!  In  two  years'  time  I 
may  be  a  grandmamma.  I  have  given  up  that  sort 
of  thing.  I  can't  understand  that  there  are  women 
so  mad  as  always  to  want  that.  And  then  it  makes 
you  grow  old  so  quickly.  .  .  ." 

Dutri  roars;  he  can't  restrain  himself,  he  chokes 
with  laughing.  .  .  . 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  she  asks. 

He  looks  at  her,  shakes  his  head,  as  though  to 
say  he  knows  all  about  it : 

u  Really,  there's  no  need  for  you  to  play  hide- 
and-seek  like  that  with  me,  Alexa.  I  know  as  well 
as  you  do  ...  that  you  yourself  are  one  of  those 
mad  women!  .  .  ." 

He  bursts  out  laughing  again;  and  this  time  she 
joins  in: 

"I?" 

"  Get  out !  You  want  that  as  much  as  you  want 
food  and  sleep  at  regular  intervals.  You  would 
have  been  dead  long  ago,  if  you  had  not  had  your 
periodical  '  emotions.'  And,  as  to  growing  old,  you 
know  you  hate  the  very  thought  of  it !  " 

"  Oh  no !  I  do  what  I  can  to  remain  young, 
because  that's  a  duty  which  one  owes  to  one's  self. 
But  I  don't  fight  against  it.  And  you  shall  see, 


MAJESTY  59 

when  the  time  comes,  that  I  shall  carrv  my  old  age 
very  gracefully.   .   .   ." 

"  As  you  carry  everything." 

'  Thanks.  Look  here :  when  I  begin  to  go  grey, 
I  shall  put  something  on  my  hair  that  will  make  me 
grey  entirely  and  I  will  powder  it,  do  you  see? 
That's  all!" 

"  A  good  idea.  .  .  ." 

"  Dutri  .  .  ." 

He  looked  at  her,  understood  that  she  wanted  to 
ask  him  something.  They  walked  on  for  an  instant 
silently,  in  the  dark;  constantly  walking  to  and  fro, 
they  each  time  passed  twice  through  the  light  that 
fell  in  two  wide  patches  through  the  doors  on  to  the 
terrace.  The  park  was  full  of  black  shadow  and 
the  great  vases  on  the  terrace  shone  vaguely  white; 
above,  the  sky  hung  full  of  stars. 

"What  did  you  want  to  ask  me?"  asked  the 
equerry. 

She  waited  till  they  had  passed  through  the  light 
and  were  again  walking  in  the  darkness : 

"  Do  you  ever  hear  of  him  now?  " 

"  Thesbia  had  a  letter  from  him  the  other  day, 
from  Paris.  Not  much  news.  He's  boring  himself, 
I  believe,  and  running  through  his  money.  It's  the 
stupidest  thing  you  can  do,  to  run  through  your 
money  in  Paris.  I  think  Paris  a  played-out  hole. 
Of  course  it  couldn't  be  anything  else.  A  republic 
is  nothing  at  all.  So  primitive  and  uncivilized. 
There  were  republics  before  the  monarchies:  Para- 
dise, with  Adam  and  Eve,  was  a  republic  of  beasts 
and  animals;  Adam  was  president.  .  .  ." 


60  MAJESTY 

"  Don't  be  an  idiot.     What  did  he  write?  " 

"  Nothing  particular.  But  what  a  mad  notion 
of  his,  to  send  in  his  papers  as  captain  of  the  guards ! 
How  did  he  come  to  do  it?  Tell  me,  what  hap- 
pened between  you  two?  " 

They  were  walking  through  the  light  again  and 
she  did  not  answer;  then,  in  the  darkness: 

"Nothing,"  she  said;  and  her  voice  no  longer 
had  that  affected  smartness  of  brutality  and  sans- 
gene,  but  melted  in  a  plaintive  note  of  melancholy. 

1  Nothing?  "  said  Dutri.     "  Then  why  ...    ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  We  had  talked  a  great  deal 
together  and  so  gradually  began  to  feel  that  we 
could  no  longer  make  each  other  happy.  I  really 
can't  remember  the  reason,  really  I  can't." 

"  A  question  of  psychology  therefore.  This 
comes  of  all  that  sentiment.  You're  both  very 
foolish.  Meddling  with  psychology  when  you're  in 
love  is  very  imprudent,  because  then  you  start  psy- 
chologizing on  yourselves  and  cut  up  your  love  into 
little  bits,  like  a  tart  of  which  you  are  afraid  you 
won't  be  able  to  get  enough  to  eat.  Practise  psy- 
chology on  somebody  else,  that's  better:  as  I  do  on 
you,  Alexa." 

"Come,  don't  talk  nonsense,  Dutri.  Don't  you 
know  anything  more  about  him?  " 

"  Nothing  more,  except  that  he  has  made  him- 
self impossible  for  our  set.  And  that  perhaps 
through  your  fault,  Alexa,  and  through  your  psy- 
chology." 

She  walked  silently,  leaning  on  his  arm;  her  mouth 
trembled,  her  Egyptian  eyes  grew  moist: 

"Oh!"   she   said;  and  she   suddenly  made  the 


MAJESTY  61 

equerry  stand  still,  grasped  his  arm  tightly  and 
looked  him  straight  in  the  face  with  her  moist  eyes. 
"  I  loved  him,  I  loved  him,  as  I  have  never  loved 
any  one !  I  ...  I  still  love  him !  If  he  were  to 
write  me  one  word,  I  should  forget  who  I  was,  my 
husband,  my  position,  I  should  go  to  him,  go  to 
him.  .  .  .  Oh,  Dutri,  do  you  know  what  it  means, 
in  our  artificial  existence,  in  which  everything  is  so 
false  around  you,  to  ...  to  ...  to  have  really 
loved  any  one?  And  to  know  that  you  have  that 
feeling  as  a  sheer  truth  in  your  heart?  Oh,  I  tell 
you,  I  adore  him,  I  still  adore  him  .  .  .  and  one 
word  from  him,  one  word  .  .  ." 

"  Lucky  that  he's  more  sensible  than  you,  Alexa, 
and  will  never  say  that  word.  Besides,  he  has.  no 
money:  what  would  you  do  if  you  were  with  him? 
Go  on  the  stage  together?  What  a  volcano  you 
are,  Alexa,  what  a  volcano !  " 

He  shook  his  foppish,  curly  head  disapprovingly, 
adjusted  the  heavy  tassels  of  his  uniform.  She  took 
his  hand,  still  serious,  not  yet  relapsing  into  her  tone 
of  persiflage: 

"  Dutri,  when  you  hear  from  him,  will  you  pro- 
mise to  tell  me  about  him  ?  I  sometimes  hunger  for 
news  of  him.  .  .  ." 

She  looked  at  him  with  such  intense,  violent  long- 
ing, with  such  hunger,  that  he  was  startled.  He 
saw  in  her  the  woman  prepared  to  do  all  things  for 
her  passion.  Then  he  smiled,  flippant  as  always: 

;'  What  silly  creatures  you  all  are !  Very  well, 
I  promise.  But  let  us  go  in  now,  for  the  geo- 
graphical studies  seem  to  be  finished  and  I  am  dying 
for  a  cup  of  tea.  .  .  ." 


62  MAJESTY 

They  went  indoors.  Busying  herself  at  the  tea- 
table,  letting  her  fingers  move  gracefully  over  the 
antique  Chinese  cups,  she  straightway  asked  the 
crown-prince  which  road  his  highness  proposed  to 
take,  feeling  great  concern  about  the  inundated 
villages,  the  poor  peasants,  agreeing  entirely  in  all 
things  with  the  Duke  of  Xara,  bathing  in  the  sym- 
pathy which  she  gathered  from  his  sweet,  black, 
melancholy  eyes  —  eyes  from  which  she  felt  tempted 
to  kiss  all  the  melancholy  away  —  bathing  in  his 
youthful  splendour  of  empire.  .  .  . 

Dutri  helped  her  to  sugar  the  tea.  He  watched 
her  with  interest:  he  knew  her  fairly  well,  she  re- 
tained very  little  enigma  for  him;  yet  she  always 
amused  him  and  he  always  found  in  her  a  fresh 
subject  for  study. 


It  was  one  of  the  historic  apartments  of  Castel 
Vaza,  an  ancient,  sombre  room  in  which  the  em- 
perors of  Liparia  who  had  been  guests  of  the  dukes 
of  Yemena  had  always  slept  on  an  old,  gilt  bed  of 
state,  raised  five  steps  from  the  floor,  a  bed  around 
which  the  heavy  curtains  of  dark-blue  brocade  and 
velvet  hung  from  an  imperial  crown  borne  by 
cherubs.  On  the  walls  were  portraits  of  all  the 
emperors  and  empresses  who  had  rested  there:  the 
dukes  of  Yemena  had  always  been  much  loved  by 
their  sovereigns  and  the  pride  of  the  ducal  family 
was  that  every  Liparian  emperor  had  been  at  least 
one  night  its  guest.  Historical  memories  were  at- 
tached to  every  piece  of  furniture,  to  every  orna- 


MAJESTY  63 

ment,  to  the  gilt  basin  and  the  gilt  ewer,  to  every- 
thing; and  the  legends  of  his  house  rose  one  by  one 
in  Othomar's  mind  as  he  stretched  himself  out  to 
rest. 

He  was  very  weary  and  yet  not  sleepy.  He  felt 
a  leaden  stiffness  in  his  joints,  as  though  he  had 
caught  cold,  and  a  continuous  shiver  passed  through 
his  whole  body,  a  mysterious  quivering  of  the 
nerves,  as  if  he  were  a  tense  string  responding  to  a 
touch.  The  week  spent  at  Altara,  the  subsequent 
five  days  at  Vaza,  the  drives  in  the  environs  had 
tired  him  out.  During  the  day  he  could  not  find  a 
moment's  time  to  yield  to  this  fatigue,  but  at  night, 
as  he  lay  stretched  for  rest,  it  shattered  him,  without 
being  followed  by  a  healthy  sleep. 

He  was  used  to  his  little  camp-bed,  on  which  he 
slept  in  his  austere  bedroom  at  the  Imperial,  the  bed 
on  which  he  had  slept  since  childhood.  The  state- 
beds,  at  the  Episcopal,  at  Vaza  and  now  here,  made 
him  feel  strange,  laid-out  and  uncomfortable.  His 
eyes  again  remained  open,  following  the  folds  of  the 
tall  curtains,  seeking  to  penetrate  the  shadows  which 
the  faint  light  of  a  silver  lamp  drove  creeping  into 
the  corners.  He  began  to  hear  a  loud  buzzing  in 
his  ears. 

And  he  thought  it  curious  to  be  lying  here  on  this 
bed  on  which  his  ancestors  had  already  lain  before 
him.  They  all  peered  at  him  from  the  eight  panels 
in  the  walls.  What  was  he?  An  atom  of  life,  a 
little  stuff  of  sovereignty,  born  of  them  all;  one  of 
the  last  links  of  their  long  chain,  which  wound 
through  the  ages  and  led  back  to  that  mysterious, 
mystical  origin,  half-sacred,  half-legendary,  to  St. 


64  MAJESTY 

Ladislas  himself.  .  .  .  Would  that  same  thing 
come  after  him  also,  a  second  chain  which  would 
wind  into  the  future?  Or  .  .  .?  And  to  what  pur- 
pose was  the  ever-returning,  endless,  eternal  rena- 
scence of  life?  What  would  be  the  end,  the  great 
end?  .  .  . 

Suddenly,  like  a  vision,  the  night  on  the  Therezia 
Square  recurred  to  his  mind,  the  thundering  salute 
from  the  fort,  thrice  repeated,  and  the  mighty, 
roaring  onslaught  of  an  approaching  blackness,  re- 
sembling a  sea.  Was  it  only  a  humming  in  his  ears, 
or  ...  or  was  it  really  roaring  on  again?  Did 
the  black  future  come  roaring  on,  in  reply  to  his 
question  as  to  the  end,  the  great  end,  with  the  same 
sound  of  threatening  waters  which  nothing  could 
withstand?  It  burst  through  dykes;  it  dragged  with 
it  all  that  was  thrown  up  as  a  protection,  inexorable, 
and  - —  with  its  grim,  black,  fateful  frown  and  the 
sombre  pleats  of  its  inundations,  which  resembled  a 
shroud  trailing  over  everything  that  was  doomed  — 
it  marched  to  where  they  stood,  his  kin,  on  their 
high  station  of  majesty  by  the  grace  of  God  and  of 
St.  Ladislas;  to  where  his  father  sat,  on  their  age-old 
throne,  crowned  and  sceptred  and  bearing  the  orb 
of  empire  in  his  imperial  palm;  and  it  did  not  seem 
to  know  that  they  were  divine  and  sacred  and  in- 
violate: it  seemed  to  care  for  nothing  in  its  rough, 
sombre,  indifferent,  unbelieving,  roaring  profana- 
tion; for  suddenly,  fiercely,  it  dragged  its  black 
waves  over  them,  dragged  them  with  it  —  his  father, 
his  mother,  all  of  them  —  and  they  were  things  that 
had  been,  they  of  the  blood  imperial,  they  became 


MAJESTY  65 

a  legend  in  the  glory  of  the  new  day  that  rose  over 
the  black  sea.  .  .  . 

His  ancestors  stared  at  him  and  they  seemed  to 
him  to  be  spectres,  themselves  legends,  falsities 
against  which  tradition  would  no  longer  act  as  a 
protection.  They  seemed  to  him  like  ghosts,  en- 
emies. .  .  .  He  opened  wider  his  burning  eyes  upon 
their  stiff,  trained  and  robed  or  harnessed  figures, 
which  seemed  to  step  towards  him  from  the  eight 
panels  of  the  walls,  in  order  to  stifle  him  in  their 
midst,  to  oppress  him  in  a  narrow  circle  of  night- 
mare on  his  panting  breast,  with  iron  knees  forcing 
the  breath  out  of  his  lungs,  with  iron  hands  crushing 
his  head,  from  which  the  sweat  trickled  over  his 
temples. 

Then  he  felt  afraid,  like  a  little  child  that  has 
been  told  creepy  stories,  afraid  of  those  ghosts  of 
emperors,  afraid  of  the  glimpses  of  visions  which 
again  flashed  pictures  of  the  inundations  before  him: 
the  meadow  with  the  corpses,  the  men  in  the  punt 
fishing  up  the  woman.  The  corpses  began  suddenly 
to  come  to  life,  to  burst  out  laughing,  with  slits  of 
mouths  and  hollow  eyes,  as  though  they  had  been 
making  a  fool  of  him,  as  though  there  had  been  no 
inundations;  and  the  dusk  of  the  bedchamber,  filled 
with  emperors,  pressed  down  upon  him  as  with 
atmospheres  of  nitrogen. 

"  Andro !  Andro !  "  he  cried,  in  a  smothered  ut- 
terance and  then  louder,  as  though  in  mortal  an- 
guish, "  Andro !  Andro !  .  ,  ." 

The  door  at  the  end  of  the  room  was  thrown 
open;  the  valet  entered,  alarmed,  in  his  night- 


66  MAJESTY 

clothes.  The  reality  of  his  presence  broke  through 
the  enchantment  of  the  night  and  exorcized  the 
ghosts  back  into  portraits. 

"Highness!  .  .  ." 

"  Andro,  come  here.  .  .  ." 

"  Highness,  what's  the  matter?  .  .  .  How  you 
frightened  me,  highness!  What  is  it?  ...  I 
thought  ..." 

"What,  Andro?" 

"  Nothing,  highness.  Your  voice  sounded  so 
terribly  hoarse !  What's  the  matter?  .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  know,  Andro:  I  am  ill,  I  think;  I  can't 
sleep.  .  .  ." 

The  man  wiped  Othomar's  clammy  forehead  with 
a  handkerchief: 

"  Will  your  highness  have  anything  to  drink?  A 
glass  of  water?  .  .  ." 

"  No,  thank  you,  thank  you.  .  .  .  Andro,  can  you 
come  and  sleep  in  here?  " 

"  If  you  wish  it,  highness.  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  here,  at  the  foot  of  my  bed.  I  believe  I'm 
not  very  well,  Andro.  .  .  .  Bring  your  pillow  in 
here." 

The  man  looked  at  him.  He  was  not  much  older 
than  his  prince.  He  had  waited  on  him  from  child- 
hood and  worshipped  him  with  the  worship  of  a 
subject  for  majesty;  he  felt  wholly  bound  to  him, 
tied  to  him;  he  knew  that  the  prince  was  not  strong, 
but  also  that  he  never  complained.  .  .  . 

Growing  suddenly  angry,  he  turned  to  go  to  his 
room  and  fetch  his  pillow: 

"  No  wonder,  when  they  fag  and  tire  you  like 
this ! "  he  cried,  unable  any  longer  to  restrain  his 


MAJESTY  67 

fury.  "  General  Ducardi  no  doubt  thinks  that  you 
have  the  same  tough  hide  as  himself!  " 

Muttering  in  his  mustache,  he  went  away,  re- 
turned with  his  pillow  and  laid  it  on  the  step  of  the 
bed  of  state : 

"  Are  you  feverish?  "  he  asked. 

"  No  .  .  .  yes,  perhaps  a  little.  It  will  pass  off, 
Andro.  I  ...  I  am  ..." 

He  dared  not  say  it. 

"  I  am  a  little  nervous,"  he  continued;  and  his 
eyes  went  anxiously  round  the  room,  where  the 
emperors  were  once  more  standing  quiet. 

"  Would  you  like  a  doctor  fetched  from  Vaza  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Andro,  by  no  means.  What  are  you 
thinking  of,  to  make  such  a  disturbance  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  ?  Go  to  sleep  now,  down  there.  .  .  ." 

"  Will  you  try  to  sleep  also  then,  my  '  princie  '?  " 
he  asked,  with  the  endearing  diminutive  which  in 
his  language  sounded  like  a  caress. 

Othomar  nodded  with  a  smile  and  suffered  him 
to  shake  up  his  pillows  after  the  manner  of  a  nurse. 

"What  a  bed!"  muttered  Andro.  "It  might 
be  a  monument  in  a  cemetery !  .  .  ." 

Then  he  lay  down  again,  but  did  not  sleep;  he 
stayed  awake.  And,  when  Othomar  asked,  after 
an  interval: 

"  Are  you  asleep,  Andro?  " 

"  Yes,  your  highness,"  he  answered,  "  nearly." 

"Is  tfiere  anything  murmuring  in  the  distance? 
Is  it  water  or  ...  or  is  it  my  fancy?  " 

The  man  listened: 

"  I  can  hear  nothing,  highness.  .  .  .  You  must 
be  a  little  feverish." 


68  MAJESTY 

"  Take  a  chair  and  come  and  sit  by  the  head  of 
the  bed.  .  .  ." 

The  man  did  as  he  was  told. 

"And  let  me  feel  you  near  me:  give  me  your 
hand,  so.  .  .  ." 

At  last  Othomar  closed  his  eyes.  In  his  ears  the 
buzzing  continued,  still  continued.  .  .  .  But  under 
the  very  buzzing,  while  the  lightness  in  his  head 
lifted  like  a  mist,  the  Crown-prince  of  Liparia  fell 
asleep,  his  clammy  hand  in  the  hard  hand  of  his 
body-servant,  who  watched  his  master's  restless 
sleep  in  the  quivering  round  the  mouth,  the  jerking 
of  the  body,  until,  to  quiet  him,  he  softly  stroked  the 
throbbing  forehead  with  his  other  hand,  muttering 
compassionately,  with  his  strange,  national  voice  of 
caress: 

"  My  poor  princie !  .  .  ." 

The  dawn  rose  outside;  the  daylight  seemed  to 
push  the  window-curtains  asunder. 


The  next  morning  the  duchess  was  to  preside  at 
the  breakfast-table :  she  was  in  the  dining-room  with 
all  the  gentlemen  when  Othomar  entered,  as  the 
last,  with  Dutri.  His  uniform  of  blue,  white  and 
silver  fitted  him  tightly;  and  he  saluted,  smilingly, 
but  a  little  stiffly,  while  Herman  shook  hands  with 
him  and  the  others  bowed,  the  duchess  curtseying 
deeply. 

"How  pale  the  prince  looks!"  Leoni  said  to 
Ducardi. 


MAJESTY  69 

It  was  true:  the  prince  looked  very  pale;  his  eyes 
were  dull,  but  he  bore  himself  manfully,  ate  a  little 
fish,  trifled  with  a  salmi  of  game.  Yet  the  prince's 
fatigue  was  so  evident  that  Ducardi  asked  him, 
softly,  across  the  table: 

"  Is  your  highness  not  feeling  well?  .  .  ." 

All  eyes  were  raised  to  Othomar.  He  wished  to 
give  the  lie  to  their  sympathy: 

"  I'm  all  right,"  he  replied. 

"Did  your  highness  have  a  bad  night?"  con- 
tinued Ducardi. 

"  Not  very  good,"  Othomar  was  compelled  to 
acknowledge,  with  a  smile. 

The  conversation  continued,  the  duchess  gave  it  a 
new  turn;  but  after  breakfast,  on  the  point  of  de- 
parture —  the  horses  stood  saddled  in  the  courtyard 
—  Ducardi  said,  bluntly : 

'  We  should  do  better  not  to  go,  highness." 

Othomar  was  astonished,  refused  to  understand. 

'  You  look  a  little  fatigued,  highness,"  added 
Ducardi,  shortly;  and,  more  softly,  deprecatingly, 
"  And  it's  not  surprising  either,,  that  the  last  few 
days  have  been  too  much  for  you.  If  your  highness 
will  permit  me,  I  would  recommend  you  to  take  a 
rest  to-day." 

Already  a  soft  feeling  of  relaxation  overcame,  the 
prince;  he  felt  too  much  delighted  at  this  idea  of 
rest  to  continue  his  resistance.  Yet  his  conscience 
pricked  him  at  the  thought  of  his  father:  a  feeling 
of  shame  in  case  the  emperor  should  hear  of  his  ex- 
haustion, which  seemed  so  clearly  evident. 

And  he  absolutely  insisted  that  the  expedition 
should  not  be  abandoned  altogether.  He  yielded 


?o  MAJESTY 

to  Ducardi  in  so  far  as  not  to  go  himself  and  to 
take  repose,  provided  that  they  thought  he  needed 
it;  but  he  urgently  begged  Prince  Herman  and  the 
others  to  follow  the  route  planned  out  for  that  day 
and  to  go.  And  this  he  said  with  youthful  haughti- 
ness, already  relieved  at  the  thought  of  the  day  of 
repose  before  him  —  a  whole  day,  unexpectedly!  — 
but  above  all  afraid  of  allowing  his  joy  to  be  per- 
ceived and  therefore  sulking  a  little,  as  though  he 
wished  to  go  too,  as  though  he  thought  General 
Ducardi  foolish,  with  his  advice 

The  gentlemen  went.  The  duchess  herself  con- 
ducted Othomar  to  the  west  wing,  pressed  him  to 
rest  in  her  own  boudoir.  Through  the  windows  of 
the  gallery  Othomar  saw  Herman  and  the  others 
riding  away;  he  followed  them  for  an  instant  with 
his  eyes,  then  went  on  with  the  duchess  and  across 
the  courtyard  saw  a  groom  lead  back  to  the  stables 
the  horse  that  had  been  saddled  for  him,  patting  its 
neck.  He  was  still  disturbed  by  mingled  emotions : 
the  pleasant  anticipation  of  resting,  a  little  anxiety 
lest  he  should  betray  himself,  a  certain  feeling  of 
shame.  .  .  . 

In  the  boudoir  the  duchess  left  him  alone.  It 
was  quiet  there;  outside,  the  lordly  fallow-deer 
grazed  peacefully.  The  repose  of  the  boudoir  of  a 
woman  of  the  world,  with  the  rich,  silent  drapery 
of  silken  stuffs,  the  inviting  luxury  of  soft  furniture, 
the  calm  brilliancy  of  ornaments  each  a  costly  object 
of  art,  surrounded  him  with  a  hushed  breathlessness, 
like  a  haze  of  muslin,  fragrant  with  an  indefinable, 
gentle  emanation,  which  was  that  woman's  very 
perfume.  The  indolence  of  this  present  moment 


MAJESTY  7I 

suddenly  overwhelmed  Othomar,  a  little  strangely, 
and  dissolved  his  thoughts  in  gentle  bewilderment. 
He  felt  like  a  runaway  horse  that  has  suddenly  been 
pulled  up  and  stands  still. 

He  sat  down  for  a  minute  and  looked  out  at  the 
deer.  Then  he  rose,  reflected  whether  he  should 
ring  and  thought  better  to  look  round  for  himself. 
On  the  duchess'  little  writing-table  —  Japanese  lac- 
quer inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl  landscapes  and 
ivory  storks  —  he  found  a  sheet  of  paper,  a  pencil. 

And  he  wrote : 

"  TO  HER  MAJESTY  ELIZABETH 
"  EMPRESS  OF  LIPARIA. 

"  CASTEL  VAZA, 

"—April,  1 8— . 

"  Pray  do  not  be  alarmed  if  the  newspapers 
exaggerate  and  say  that  I  am  ill.  I  was  a  little 
fatigued  and  Ducardi  advised  me  to  rest  to-day. 
Herman  and  the  others  have  gone  on;  to-morrow 
I  hope  myself  to  lead  our  second  expedition  from 
here.  The  day  after  that  we  go  to  Lycilia. 

"  OTHOMAR." 

Then  he  rang  and,  when  the  footman  appeared: 

"  My  valet,  Andro." 

In  a  few  moments  Andro  appeared.  "  Ask  for 
a  horse,  Andro,"  said  Othomar,  "  ride  to  Vaza  and 
dispatch  this  telegram  as  quickly  as  you  can  to  her 
majesty  the  empress.  .  .  ." 

Andro  went  out  and  the  strange,  indolent  vacancy 
overcame  Othomar  once  more.  The  sun  shone  over 


7*  MAJESTY 

the  park,  the  deer  gleamed  with  coats  like  cigar- 
coloured  satin.  The  last  fortnight  passed  once 
more  before  Othomar's  eyes.  And  it  was  as  though, 
in  the  vistas  of  that  very  short  past,  he  saw  spread- 
ing out  like  one  great  whole,  one  vast  picture  of 
human  distress,  the  misery  which  he  had  beheld  and 
endeavoured  to  soften.  And  the  great  affliction 
that  filled  the  land  made  his  heart  beat  full  of  pity. 
A  slack  feeling  of  melancholy,  that  there  was  so 
much  affliction  and  that  he  was  so  impotent,  once 
more  rose  within  him,  as  it  never  failed  to  do  when 
he  was  alone  and  able  to  reflect.  Then  he  felt 
himself  small,  insignificant,  fit  for  nothing;  and 
something  in  his  soul  fell  feebly,  helplessly  from  a 
factitious  height,  without  energy  and  without  will. 
Then  that  something  lay  there  in  despair  and  upon 
it,  heavy  with  all  its  sorrow,  the  whole  empire, 
crushing  it  with  its  weight. 

Serious  strikes  had  broken  out  in  the  eastern 
quicksilver-mines,  beyond  the  Gigants.  He  remem- 
bered once  making  a  journey  there  and  suffering 
when  he  saw  the  strange,  ashy-pale  faces  of  the 
workmen,  who  stared  at  him  with  great,  hollow  eyes 
and  who  underwent  a  slow  death  through  their  own 
livelihood,  in  a  poisonous  atmosphere.  And  he 
knew  that  what  he  had  then  seen  was  a  holiday 
sight,  the  most  prosperous  sight  that  they  were  able 
to  show  him;  that  he  would  never  see  the  black 
depths  of  their  wretchedness,  because  he  was  the 
crown-prince.  And  he  could  do  nothing  for  them 
and,  if  they  raised  their  heads  still  more  fiercely 
than  they  were  doing  now,  the  troops,  which  had 


MAJESTY  73 

already  started  for  the  district,  would  shoot  them 
down  like  dogs. 

He  panted  loudly,  as  though  to  pant  away  the 
weight  upon  his  chest,  but  it  fell  back  again.  The 
image  of  his  father  came  before  his  mind,  high, 
certain,  conscious  of  himself,  unwavering,  always 
knowing  what  to  do,  confident  that  majesty  was 
infallible,  writing  signatures  with  big,  firm  letters, 
curtly:  "Oscar."  Everything  signed  like  that, 
"  Oscar,"  was  immaculate  in  its  righteousness  as  fate 
itself.  How  different  was  he,  the  son !  Then  did 
the  old  race  of  might  and  authority  begin  to  yield 
with  him,  as  with  a  sudden  crack  of  the  spine,  an 
exhaustion  of  the  marrow? 

Then  he  saw  his  mother,  a  Roumanian  princess, 
loving  her  near  ones  so  dearly;  womanliness,  mother- 
liness  personified,  in  their  small  circle;  to  the  people, 
haughty,  inaccessible,  tactless  as  he  was,  unpopular, 
as  he  was,  too,  at  least  in  Lipara  and  the  southern 
part  of  the  empire.  He  knew  it :  beneath  that  rigid 
inaccessibility  she  concealed  her  terror,  terror  when 
she  sat  in  an  open  carriage,  at  the  theatre,  at  cere- 
monial functions,  or  in  church,  or  even  at  visits  to 
charitable  institutions.  This  terror  had  killed 
within  her  all  her  great  love  for  humanity  and  had 
morbidly  concentrated  her  soul,  which  was  inclined 
by  nature  to  take  a  wider  outlook,  upon  love  for  that 
small  circle  of  theirs.  And  beneath  this  terror  hid 
her  acquiescence,  her  expectation  of  the  catastrophe, 
the  upheaval  in  which  she  and  hers  were  to 
perish!  .  .  . 

He  was  their  son,  the  heir  to  their  throne :  whence 


74  MAJESTY 

did  he  derive  his  impotent  hesitation,  which  his 
father  did  not  possess,  and  his  love  for  their  people, 
which  his  mother  no  longer  possessed?  His  an- 
cestors he  knew  only  by  what  history  had  taught 
him:  in  the  earlier  middle-ages,  barbarian,  cruel; 
later,  displaying  a  refined  sensuality;  one  monarch, 
a  weakling,  ruled  entirely  by  favourites,  a  roi- 
faineant,  under  whom  the  empire  had  fallen  a  prey  to 
intestinal  divisions  and  foreign  greed;  afterwards, 
more  civilized,  a  revival  of  strength,  a  reaction  of 
progress  after  decline,  followed  by  the  glory  and 
greatness  of  the  empire  to  the  present  day.  .  .  .  To 
the  present  day:  to  him  came  this  inheritance  of 
greatness  and  glory.  How  would  he  handle  it,  how 
would  he  in  his  turn  transmit  it  to  his  son? 

Then  he  felt  himself  so  small,  so  timid  that  he 
could  have  run  away  somewhither,  away  from  the 
gaping  eyes  of  his  future  obligations.  .  .  . 


The  luncheon  had  all  the  intimacy  of  a  most 
charming  tete-a-tete,  served  in  the  small  dining- 
room,  with  only  the  steward  waiting  at  table.  The 
duchess  enquired  very  sympathetically  how  Otho- 
mar  was;  the  prince  already  felt  really  rested, 
showed  a  good  appetite,  was  gay  and  talkative, 
praised  the  cook  and  the  famous  lycilian  wine. 
When  the  duchess  after  luncheon  proposed  to  him 
to  go  for  a  small  excursion  in  the  neighbourhood, 
he  thought  it  an  excellent  idea.  He  himself  wished 
to  ride  —  he  knew  that  the  duchess  was  an  excellent 


MAJESTY  75 

horsewoman  —  but  Alexa  dissuaded  him,  laugh- 
ingly, said  that  she  was  afraid  of  General  Ducardi, 
who  had  recommended  the  prince  to  rest,  and 
thought  that  a  little  drive  in  an  open  carnage  would 
be  less  tiring.  She  had  remembered  betimes  that  a 
riding-habit  made  her  look  old  and  heavy;  and  she 
was  very  glad  when  the  prince  gave  way. 

The  weather  had  remained  delightful :  a  mild  sun 
in  a  blue  sky.  The  landscape  stretched  wide,  the 
mountains  stood  shrill  and  steep,  pointing  their  ice- 
laden  crests  into  the  ether.  The  drive  had  all  the 
charm  of  an  incognito  free  from  etiquette,  with  the 
prince,  in  his  undress  uniform,  seated  beside  the 
duchess,  in  a  simple,  dark  gown  of  mauve  corduroy 
velvet,  in  the  elegant,  light  victoria,  on  which  the 
coachman  sat  alone,  without  a  footman,  setting  the 
two  slender  bays  briskly  about.  The  sun  gleamed 
in  patches  over  the  horses'  sleek  hides  and  cast  its 
reflections  in  the  varnish  of  the  carriage,  in  the 
facets  of  the  cut-glass  lamps,  on  the  coachman's 
tall  hat  and  in  the  buttons  of  Othomar's  uniform. 
All  this  sparkle  scintillated  with  short,  bright  flashes ; 
and  thus,  lightly  flickering,  the  carriage  glided  along 
the  road,  through  a  couple  of  villages,  whose  in- 
habitants saluted  their  duchess,  but  did  not  know 
who  the  simple  young  officer  was,  sitting  beside  her 
A  breeze  had  dried  away  the  dampness  of  the 
preceding  days  and  light  clouds  of  dust  blew  up  from 
under  the  quick-rolling  wheels. 

The  duchess  talked  fluently,  of  Lipara,  the  em- 
peror, the  empress.  She  possessed  the  tact  of 
knowing  intuitively  what  to  say  and  what  to  speak 
about,  when  she  was  anxious  to  please.  Her  voice 


76  MAJESTY 

was  a  charm.  She  was  sometimes  capable  of  great 
simplicity  and  naturalness,  generally  when  she  was 
not  thinking  of  making  an  impression.  Intuitively 
she  assumed  towards  the  prince,  to  make  him  like 
her,  that  same  simplicity  which  was  her  nature. 
It  made  her  seem  years  younger:  the  smart  brusque- 
ness  that  was  in  fashion  flattered  her  much  less  and 
made  her  appear  older  and  even  vulgar,  whereas 
now  she  grew  refined  in  the  natural  distinction  of 
an  ancient  race.  The  little  black  veil  on  her  hat 
hid  the  ugly  wrinkles  about  her  eyes,  which  gleamed 
through  it  like  stars. 

The  prince  remembered  stories  told  by  his 
equerries  —  including  Dutri  —  about  the  duchess; 
he  remembered  names  mentioned  in  a  whisper.  He 
did  not  at  this  minute  believe  in  these  slanders,  as 
he  considered  them  to  be.  Sensible  as  he  was  to 
sympathy,  he  was  won  over  by  hers,  which  he  read 
in  her  intuitively;  and  it  made  him  think  well  and 
kindly  of  her,  as  he  thought  of  all  who  liked  him. 

The  carriage  had  been  going  between  terraces 
of  vineyards,  when  suddenly,  as  though  by  surprise, 
it  drove  past  a  castle,  half-visible  through  some  very 
ancient  chestnut-trees. 

"What  estate  is  that?"  asked  the  prince. 
"  Who  are  your  neighbours,  duchess?  " 

"  No  one  less  than  Zanti,  highness,"  replied  the 
duchess:  she  shivered,  but  tried  to  jest.  "  Balthazar 
Zanti  lives  here,  with  his  daughter." 

"Zanti!  Balthazar  Zanti!"  cried  Othomar,  in 
a  tone  of  astonishment. 

He  stood  up  and  looked  curiously  at  the  castle, 
which  lay  hidden  behind  the  chestnut-trees: 


MAJESTY  77 

"  But  how  is  it,  duchess,  that  last  year,  when  I 
was  hunting  here  with  the  emperor,  with  the  duke, 
I  never  heard  of  Prince  Zanti  or  that  he  lived 
here?" 

The  duchess  laughed: 

"  Presumably,  highness,  because  the  duke's  covers 
lie  in  the  opposite  direction  " —  she  made  a  vague 
gesture  — "  and  you  never  drove  past  this  way  and 
because  his  majesty  will  never  suffer  the  name  of 
Balthazar  Zanti  to  be  uttered  in  his  presence." 

"  But  none  of  the  equerries  .  .  ." 

The  duchess  laughed  still  more  merrily,  looked 
at  the  prince,  who  was  also  chuckling,  and  said : 

"  It  is  certainly  unpardonable  of  them  not  to  have 
informed  you  more  fully  of  the  curiosities  in  the 
province  of  Vaza.  But  .  .  .  now  that  I  think  of 
it,  highness,  it's  quite  natural.  The  castle  was 
empty  last  year:  Zanti  was  travelling  about  the 
country,  making  speeches.  You  remember,  they 
were  afterwards  forbidden  by  law.  His  name, 
therefore,  had  no  local  significance  here  at  the 
time.  .  .  ." 

The  prince  was  still  staring  at  the  castle,  which 
never  came  fully  into  view,  when  the  carriage,  in  a 
turn  of  the  road,  almost  touched  a  little  group  as 
it  drove  past  them,  against  the  slope  of  a  vineyard: 
an  old  man,  a  young  girl,  a  dog.  The  girl  was 
frail,  slender,  pale,  fair-haired,  dressed  in  furs  in 
spite  of  the  sun  and  retaining  beneath  them  a  certain 
morbid  elegance;  she  sat  on  the  grass,  wearing  a 
dark  fur  toque  on  her  silvery  fair  hair;  her  long, 
white  hand,  ungloved,  soothingly  and  insistingly 
patted  the  curly  head  of  the  retriever,  which  barked 


78  MAJESTY 

at  the  carriage.  Next  to  her  stood  a  tall,  erect  old 
man,  looking  eccentric  in  a  wide,  grey  smock-frock: 
a  grey  giant,  with  a  heavy  beard  and  sombre  eyes, 
which  shone  with  a  dull  light  from  under  the  brim 
of  a  soft  felt  hat.  The  dog  barked ;  the  girl  bowed 
—  she  recognized  the  duchess  as  a  neighbour  — 
without  knowing  who  the  prince  was;  the  old  man, 
however,  looked  straight  before  him,  frowning  and 
making  no  sign.  The  carriage  rattled  past. 

"  That  was  Zanti,"  whispered  the  duchess. 

"  Zanti!  "  repeated  the  prince.  "  And  how  long 
has  he  been  living  here?  " 

"  Only  a  very  short  time :  I  believe  the  doctors 
think  the  air  of  Vaza  good  for  his  daughter." 

"  Was  that  young  girl  his  daughter?  " 

"Yes,  highness.  I  have  seen  her  once  before; 
she  appears  to  be  delicate." 

"  Prince  Zanti,  is  he  not?  " 

"  Certainly,  highness;  but,  by  his  own  wish,  Zanti 
quite  plain.  .  .  .  Titles  are  all  nonsense  in  the  nine- 
teenth century,  highness." 

She  jested  and  yet  felt  a  silent  shudder,  she  knew 
not  why.  She  thought  it  ominous  that  Zanti  had 
come  to  live  so  near  to  Castel  Vaza.  Shivering,  she 
gave  a  quick  side-glance  at  the  prince.  She  per- 
ceived a  strange  pensiveness  drawing  over  his  face 
like  a  shadow.  Then,  to  change  the  conversation 
and  to  think  no  longer  of  that  horrid  man : 

"  You  are  looking  much  better,  highness,  than  you 
did  this  morning.  The  air  has  done  you  good.  .  .  ." 

She  suppressed  her  shiver.  The  prince,  on  the 
other  hand,  remained  strange:  a  sudden  emotion 
seemed  to  be  stirring  within  him.  When  they  were 


MAJESTY  79 

back  at  the  castle,  in  the  boudoir,  the  duchess  offered 
herself  to  make  the  prince  a  cup  of  tea.  He  stood 
looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  deer,  but,  while  she 
busied  herself  with  the  crested,  gilt  array  of  her 
tea-table,  she  saw  him  turn  pale,  white  as  chalk  — 
as  he  had  looked  that  morning  —  his  eyes  dilating 
strangely : 

"What  is  the  matter,  highness?"  she  cried,  in 
alarm,  approaching  him. 

He  turned  towards  her,  tried  to  laugh : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  duchess;  I  am  very  discourt- 
eous ...  to  behave  like  this,  but  .  .  .  but  that 
man  took  me  by  surprise."  He  laughed.  "  I  did 
not  know  that  he  was  here;  and  then  the  air  ... 
that  rarefied  air  .  .  ." 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead;  she  saw  him 
grow  paler,  his  blood  seemed  to  be  running  out  of 
him,  he  staggered.  .  .  . 

"  Highness!  "  she  cried. 

But  Othomar,  groping  vaguely  with  his  hand  for 
a  support,  fell  up  against  her;  she  caught  him  in  her 
arm,  against  her  bosom,  mortally  frightened,  and 
saw  that  he  had  swooned.  A  thin  sweat  stood  on 
his  forehead;  his  eyes  closed  beneath  their  weary 
lids,  as  though  they  were  dying  away;  his  mouth  was 
open  without  breathing. 

The  duchess  was  violently  alarmed;  she  was 
mortally  frightened  lest  anything  serious  should 
happen  to  the  Duke  of  Xara,  alone  with  her  in  the 
castle;  she  suddenly  felt  that  the  future  of  Liparia 
was  entrusted  to  the  support  of  her  arms;  she  al- 
ready saw  the  prince  lying  dead,  herself  disgraced  at 
the  Imperial.  .  .  .  All  this  flashed  across  her  brain 


8o  MAJESTY 

at  the  first  moment.  But  she  looked  at  him  long; 
and  a  gentle  expression  overspread  her  face:  pride, 
that  the  Duke  of  Xara  lay  there  half-fainting  on 
her  shoulder,  and  sudden  passion,  containing  much 
motherliness  and  pity,  blended  into  a  strange  feeling 
in  her  soul.  She  softly  smoothed  back  his  hair, 
wiped  his  perspiring  forehead  with  her  handkerchief. 
.  .  .  And  the'strange  sensation  became  still  stranger 
within  her,  intenser  in  its  two  constituent  parts : 
intenser  in  pride,  intenser  in  compassionate  love, 
that  of  a  mistress  and  mother  in  one.  Then,  with 
a  smile,  she  pressed  the  handkerchief,  lightly 
moistened  with  the  imperial  sweat,  to  her  trembling 
lips.  The  soft  aroma  of  the  moisture  seemed  to 
intoxicate  her  with  a  fragrance  of  virile  youth.  .  .  . 
She  thought  of  the  letters  and  photographs  in  the 
silver  casket  with  the  turquoises.  A  deep  melan- 
choly, because  of  life,  smarted  through  her  soul;  yet 
more  of  her  memories  seemed  to  fly  away  like  dust. 
Then,  refusing  to  yield  any  longer  to  this  melan- 
choly, she  bent  her  head  and,  serious  now,  giving 
herself  to  the  present,  which  revived  her  with  new 
happiness,  she  pressed  her  lips,  trembling  still  more 
than  before,  on  Othomar's  mouth.  For  a  moment 
she  lingered  there;  her  eyes  closed;  then  she  gave 
her  kiss. 

They  opened  their  eyes  together,  looked  at  each 
other.  Earnestly  sombre,  almost  tragically,  she 
flashed  her  glance  into  his.  He  said  nothing,  re- 
mained gazing  at  her,  still  half  in  her  arms.  The 
colour  came  mantling  back  to  his  cheeks.  Their 
eyes  imbibed  one  another.  He  felt  the  unknown 
opening  before  him,  he  felt  himself  being  initiated 


MAJESTY  8 1 

into  the  world  of  knowledge  which  he  suspected  in 
her  and  did  not  know  of  himself.  But  he  felt  no 
joy  because  of  it;  her  eyes  continued  sombre.  Then 
he  merely  took  her  hand,  just  pressed  it  in  a  solitary 
caress  and  said,  his  eyes  still  gazing  into  her  deep, 
quiet,  dark  glances  of  passion,  his  features  still  rigid 
with  surprise : 

"  I  was  feeling  a  little  giddy,  I  fear,  just  now? 
Please  forgive  me,  duchess.  .  .  ." 

She  too  continued  to  look  at  him,  at  first  sombrely, 
then  in  smiling  humility.  Her  pride  soared  to  its 
climax  with  one  beat  of  its  wings:  the  mouth  of  her 
future  emperor  was  still  sealed  with  her  kiss !  Her 
love  touched  her  inner  life  as  a  wafting  breeze  skims 
over  a  lake,  rippling  its  surface  into  utter  silver  with 
a  single  fresh  gust  and  stirring  it  to  its  very  depths; 
she  worshipped  him  because  of  his  youthful  majesty, 
which  so  graciously  accepted  her  kiss  without  further 
acknowledgment,  because  of  his  imperial  candour, 
his  boyish  voice,  his  boyish  eyes,  the  pressure  of  his 
hand:  the  only  thing  he  had  given  her;  and  she 
experienced  all  this  as  a  very  strange,  proud  pleasure : 
the  delight  of  assimilating  that  candid  youth,  that 
maiden  manhood,  as  a  magic  potion  that  should  re- 
store her  own  youth  to  her. 

7 

They  dined  late  that  evening,  as  they  had  waited 
for  Herman  and  the  others.  The  conversation  at 
table  turned  upon  the  condition  of  the  lowlands, 
upon  the  peasants,  who  had  lost  their  all.  The 
duchess  was  silent;  the  conversation  did  not  interest 
her,  but  her  silence  was  smiling  and  tranquil. 


8a  MAJESTY 

That  evening  Othomar  again  studied  the  map 
with  Ducardi,  under  the  lace-covered  lamp.  The 
evening  had  turned  cold,  the  terrace-doors  were 
closed.  The  duchess  did  not  feel  inclined  for  bil- 
liards, but  sat  talking  softly  with  Dutri  in  the  second 
drawing-room.  She  looked  superb,  serene  as  a 
statue,  in  her  dress  of  old  lace,  pale-yellow,  her 
white  bosom  rising  evenly  with  her  regular  breath- 
ing; a  single  diamond  star  gleamed  in  her  front  hair. 

Othomar  pointed  with  the  pencil  across  the  map : 

"  Then  we  can  go  like  this,  along  this  road.  .  .  . 
Look,  General  Ducardi;  look  here,  Colonel  von 
Fest:  this  is  where  I  drove  this  afternoon  with  the 
duchess;  and  here,  I  believe,  is  where  Zanti  lives. 
Did  you  know  that?  " 

The  officers  looked  up,  looked  down  at  the 
spot  to  which  the  crown-prince  pointed,  expressed 
surprise: 

"  I  thought  that  he  lived  in  the  south,  in  Thra- 
cyna,"  said  the  young  Count  of  Thesbia. 

Othomar  repeated  what  the  duchess  had  told 
him. 

"Zanti!"  cried  Herman.  "Balthazar  Zanti? 
Why,  but  then  it  is  he  !  .  .  .  I  was  talking  this  after- 
noon to  a  party  of  peasants;  they  told  me  of  the 
new  huts  which  a  new  landlord  was  fitting  up  in  the 
neighbourhood,  but  they  spoke  in  dialect  and  I  could 
not  understand  them  clearly;  I  thought  they  said 
Xanti  and  I  never  suspected  that  it  could  be  Bal- 
thazar Zanti.  So  he's  the  man!  " 

"Huts?"  asked  Othomar. 

"Yes,  a  village  of  huts,  it  seems;  they  said  he 
was  so  rich  and  so  generous  and  was  housing  I  don't 


MAJESTY  83 

know  how  many  peasants,  who  had  lost  all  that  they 
possessed." 

"  I  now  remember  reading  in  the  papers  that 
Zanti  had  gone  to  live  at  Vaza,"  said  Leoni. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  those  huts :  we  can  take  them 
on  our  way  to-morrow,"  said  Othomar. 

General  Ducardi  compressed  his  bushy  eyebrows : 

"  You  know,  highness,  that  his  majesty  is  any- 
thing but  enamoured  of  Zanti  and  is  even  thinking 
of  exiling  him.  It  would  perhaps  be  more  in  ac- 
cordance with  his  majesty's  views  to  ignore  what 
Zanti  is  doing  here  for  the  moment." 

Othomar,  however,  was  not  disposed  to  yield  to 
the  general;  a  youthful  combativeness  welled  in  his 
breast. 

"  But,  general,  to  ignore  anybody's  good  work  in 
these  times  is  neither  gracious  nor  politic." 

"  I  am  convinced  that,  if  his  majesty  knew  that 
Zanti  was  occupying  his  castle  here,  he  would  have 
specially  requested  your  highness  to  hold  no  com- 
munication with  the  man,"  said  Ducardi,  with  em- 
phasis. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  general,"  said  Otho- 
mar, drily.  "  I  believe,  on  the  contrary,  that,  if 
his  majesty  knew  that  Zanti  was  doing  so  much  for 
the  victims  of  the  inundations,  his  majesty  would 
overlook  a  good  deal  of  his  amateur  communism." 

Ducardi  gnawed  his  moustache  with  a  wry  smile : 

"  Your  highness  speaks  rather  light-heartedly  of 
that  amateur  communism.  Zanti's  theories  and 
practice  are  more  than  mere  dilettantism.  .  .  ." 

"  But,  general,"  rejoined  Othomar,  gently,  "  I 
really  do  not  understand  why  Zanti's  socialism  need 


84  MAJESTY 

prevent  us  at  this  moment  —  I  repeat,  at  this  par- 
ticular moment  —  from  appreciating  what  he  is  do- 
ing, nor  why  it  need  interfere  with  our  visiting  his 
huts,  considering  that  we  have  come  to  Vaza  to 
inform  ourselves  of  everything  that  concerns  the 
inundations.  .  .  ." 

Ducardi  looked  at  him  angrily.  He  was  not 
accustomed  to  being  contradicted  like  this  by  his 
highness.  The  others  listened.  The  duchess  her- 
self, attracted  by  the  discussion,  amid  which  she 
heard  Othomar's  voice  ringing  with  youthful  au- 
thority, had  approached  with  Dutri,  curiously. 

*  To  say  the  least  of  it,  it  could  do  no  harm  just 
to  see  those  huts:  I  must  grant  my  cousin  as  much 
as  that,  general,"  said  Herman  of  Gothland,  who 
was  beginning  to  like  Othomar. 

Von  Fest  also  supported  this  view,  convincingly, 
roundly,  honestly,  thought  that  they  could  do  no 
less,  having  regard  to  the  victims  whom  Zanti  had 
housed.  Every  one  now  gave  his  opinion:  Leoni 
thought  it  impossible  that  the  crown-prince  should 
visit  Vaza  and  not  those  huts;  it  would  look  as 
though  his  highness  were  afraid  of  a  bugbear  like 
Zanti.  The  fact  that  Othomar  was  contradicting 
Ducardi  gave  them  all  grounds  for  thwarting  the 
old  general,  who  hitherto  had  conducted  the  expe- 
dition with  a  sort  of  military  tyranny  which  had 
frequently  annoyed  them.  Even  Dutri,  who  as  a 
rule  was  rather  indifferent,  joined  forces  with  them, 
cynically,  his  eyes  gleaming  because  Ducardi  for  once 
was  being  put  in  his  place.  He  winked  at  the 
duchess. 

And  only  Siridsen  and  Thesbia  took  Ducardi's 


MAJESTY  85 

side,  hesitating  because  the  general  declared  with 
such  conviction  that  the  emperor's  will  would  be 
different  from  his  son's  wish;  especially  Thesbia: 

"  I'  can't  understand  why  the  prince  insists  so," 
he  whispered  to  the  duchess  in  alarm.  "  Ducardi's 
right:  you  yourself  know  how  the  emperor  loathes 
Zanti.  .  .  ." 

The  duchess  shrugged  her  handsome  shoulders 
with  a  smile,  listening  to  Othomar,  whom  she  heard 
defending  himself,  supported  by  ejaculations  and 
nods  from  the  others. 

"  Well,"  she  heard  Ducardi  answer,  drily,  "  if 
your  highness  absolutely  insists  that  we  should  go 
to  Zanti's,  we  will  go ;  I  only  hope  that  your  highness 
will  always  remember  that  I  did  not  agree  with  you 
in  this  matter.  .  .  ." 

The  Duke  of  Xara  now  answered  laug'hingly,  was 
the  first  to  make  peace  after  this  victory;  and,  as 
to  the  rest  of  the  route  to  Lycilia,  which  they  worked 
out  on  the  map,  he  agreed  with  the  general  in  every- 
thing, with  little  flattering  intonations  of  approval 
and  appreciation  of  his  penetrating  and  practical 
judgement.  .  .  . 

"  He  may  not  have  the  makings  of  a  great  com- 
mander," whispered  Dutri  to  the  duchess,  "  but  he 
will  turn  out  a  first-rate  little  diplomatist.  .  .  ." 

But  Ducardi  was  inwardly  very  angry.  For  a 
moment  he  thought  of  ascertaining  the  emperor's 
wishes  by  a  secret  telegram,  but  he  rejected  this 
idea,  as  it  would  make  a  bad  impression  at  the 
Imperial  if  the  Duke  of  Xara  were  not  left  free 
in  such  an  apparent  trifle.  He  therefore  only  at- 
tempted, next  morning,  once  more  to  dissuade 


86  MAJESTY 

Othomar  from  the  visit,  but  the  prince  held  firm. 
'  You  seem  very  much  opposed  to  this  expedition, 
general,"  said  Von  Fest.  "  Isn't  it  really  quite 
reasonable?  " 

"  You  don't  know  the  prejudice  his  majesty  has 
against  that  man,  colonej,"  replied  the  general. 
"  As  I  have  told  you  before,  his  majesty  is  thinking 
of  exiling  him  and  is  sure  to  do  so  when  he  hears 
that  he  has  now  shut  himself  in  his  castle,  doubtless 
with  the  object  of  stirring  up  the  peasantry,  as  he 
has  already  stirred  up  the  workmen  in  the  towns. 
The  man  is  a  dangerous  fanatic,  colonel:  dangerous 
especially  because  he  has  money  with  which  to  put 
his  visions  into  practice.  He  instigates  the  lower 
orders  not  to  fulfil  their  military  duties  because  it  is 
written :  '  Thou  shalt  not  kill.'  He  looks  upon 
marriage  as  a  useless  sacrament;  and  I  have^ heard 
that  his  followers  simply  come  to  him  and  that  he 
marries  them  himself,  with  a  sort  of  blessing,  which 
in  its  turn  is  based  upon  a  text,  I  forget  which.  He 
is  always  writing  socialistic  pamphlets,  which  are 
promptly  seized  and  suppressed,  and  he  makes  se- 
ditious speeches.  And  the  man  is  even  standing  for 
the  house  of  deputies !  " 

11  One  who  abjures  his  title  a  member  of  the  house 
of  deputies !  "  smiled  Von  Fest. 

"  Oh,  his  doctrine  swarms  with  such  inconsisten- 
cies !  "  growled  Ducardi.  "  He  will  tell  you  of 
course  that,  so  long  as  there  is  nothing  better  than 
the  house  of  deputies,  he  is  content  to  be  a  member 
of  it.  And  the  crown-prince  wants  to  take  notice 
of  what  a  man  like  that  does !  " 

Von  Fest  shrugged  his  shoulders:' 


MAJESTY  87 

"  Let  him  be,  general.  The  prince  is  young.  He 
wants  to  know  and  see  things.  That's  a  good  sign." 

"  But  .  .  .  the  emperor  will  never  approve  of 
it,  colonel !  "  thundered  the  general,  with  an  oath. 

Again  Von  Fest  shrugged  his  shoulders: 

"  Nevertheless  I  should  not  dissuade  him  any 
longer,  general.  If  the  prince  wants  a  thing,  let 
him  have  it,  it  will  do  him  good.  .  .  .  And,  if  he 
gets  blown  up  by  his  father  afterwards,  that  will  do 
him  good  too,  by  way  of  reaction." 

Ducardi  looked  him  straight  in  the  face: 
'  What  do  you  think  of  our  prince?  "  he  asked, 
point-blank. 

Von  Fest  returned  the  general's  glance,  smilingly, 
looking  straight  into  his  searching  eyes.  He  was 
honest  by  nature  and  upright,  but  enough  of  a  court- 
ier to  be  able  to  dissimulate  when  he  thought  ne- 
cessary: 

"  A  most  charming  lad,"  he  replied.  "  But  life 
—  or  rather  he  himself  —  will  have  to  change  him 
very  much  if  he  is  to  hold  his  own  .  .  .  later  on." 

The  officers  understood  each  other.  Ducardi 
heaved  a  deep  sigh : 

"  Yes,  there  are  difficult  times  coming,"  he  said, 
with  an  oath. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Gothlandic  colonel,  simply. 

The  princes  mounted  their  horses  in  the  court- 
yard; they  took  the  same  road  along  which  Othomar 
had  driven  with  the  duchess  the  previous  afternoon 
past  Zanti's  castle.  Leoni  had  learnt  where  the  huts 
lay;  the  mountains  began  to  retreat,  the  road  wound 
curve  after  curve  beneath  the  trampling  hoofs  of  the 
horses.  Suddenly  the  Zanthos  spread  itself  out  on 


88  MAJESTY 

the  horizon:  the  wide  expanse  of  flooded  water,  one 
great  lake  under  the  broad,  gleaming,  vernal  sky. 

"  That  must  be  they,"  said  Leoni. 

His  finger  pointed  to  a  hamlet  of  long  wooden 
buildings,  evidently  newly  built,  smelling  of  fresh 
timber  in  the  morning  breeze.  As  they  rode  nearer, 
they  saw  carpenters  and  masons;  a  whole  work-yard 
came  into  view,  full  of  busy  movement,  with  stacks 
of  red  bricks  and  piles  of  long  planks.  Singing  was 
heard,  with  a  pious  intonation,  as  of  psalms. 

Ducardi,  whose  custom  was  always  to  ride  in 
front,  to  the  left  of  the  crown-prince,  deliberately 
reined  in  his  horse,  allowed  the  others  to  come  up 
with  him;  Othomar  perceived  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  act  on  this  occasion.  He  thought  it  petty  of  the 
general  and  said  to  Thesbia: 

"  Ask  if  Zanti  is  here." 

The  aide-de-camp  turned  and  put  the  question  to 
a  sort  of  foreman.  None  of  the  workpeople  had 
saluted;  the  equerries  doubted  whether  they  had 
recognized  the  crown-prince.  Yes,  Zanti  was  there. 
Plain  "  Zanti."  Very  well,  he  would  fetch  him. 

The  man  went.  He  was  long  away.  Othomar, 
waiting  with  the  others  on  horseback,  already  be- 
gan to  find  his  position  difficult,  lost  his  tact,  assumed 
his  stiff  rigidity,  talked  in  forced  tones  to  Herman. 
He  found  it  difficult  to  wait  when  one  had  never 
done  so  hitherto.  It  made  him  nervous  and  he 
made  his  horse,  which  was  tugging  at  the  reins  with 
skittish  movements  of  its  head,  nervous  too  and  was 
already  thinking  whether  it  would  not  be  better  to 
ride  on.  .  .  . 

But  just  then  Zanti,  with  the  foreman  who  had 


MAJESTY  89 

called  him,  approached,  slowly,  making  no  effort  to 
hurry.  He  looked  under  his  hand  from  a  distance 
at  the  group  of  officers  on  horseback,  flashing  in  the 
sunlight;  stood  still;  asked  the  foreman  some  quest- 
ion or  other;  looked  again. 

"  The  unmannerly  fellow !  "  muttered  Thesbia. 

The  aide-de-camp  rode  up  to  him  angrily,  spoke 
in  a  loud  voice  of  his  imperial  highness  the  Duke  of 
Xara;  the  duke  wished  to  see  the  huts. 

"  They  are  not  huts,"  said  Zanti,  in  peevish  con- 
tradiction. 

"  What  then?  "  asked  the  aide,  haughtily. 

"  Dwellings,"  answered  Zanti,  curtly. 

Thesbia  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  annoyance. 
But  the  crown-prince  himself  had  ridden  up  and 
saluted  Zanti  before  the  latter  had  vouchsafed  any 
greeting : 

"  Will  your  excellency  give  us  leave  to  look  at 
what  you  are  doing  for  the  victims  of  the  inunda- 
tions?" he  asked,  politely,  gently,  graciously. 

"  I'm  not  an  excellency,"  muttered  the  grey-beard, 
"  but,  if  you  like  to  look,  you  can." 

"  We  should  like  to,"  replied  Othomar,  a  little 
haughtily,  "  but  not  unless  we  have  your  entire 
approval.  You  are  the  master  on  your  own  estate; 
and,  if  our  visit  is  unwelcome,  we  will  not  force  our 
presence  on  you." 

Zanti  looked  him  in  the  eyes: 

"  I  repeat,  if  you  like  to  look  round,  you  can. 
But  there  is  not  much  to  see.  Everything  is  so 
simple.  We  make  no  secret  of  what  we  do.  And 
the  estate  is  not  mine:  it  belongs  to  all  of  them." 

Othomar  dismounted,  the  others  followed;  with 


90  MAJESTY 

difficulty  Leoni  and  Thesbia  found  a  couple  of  boys 
to  hold  the  horses  in  return  for  a  tip. 

Othomar  and  Herman  had  already  walked  ahead 
with  the  old  man: 

"  I  hear  that  you  are  doing  much  good  work 
to  mitigate  the  disaster  of  the  inundations,"  said 
Othomar. 

"  The  inundation  is  not  a  disaster." 

"  Not  a  disaster  1  "  asked  Herman,  surprised. 
"What  then?" 

"  A  just  punishment  of  heaven.  And  there  will 
be  more  punishments.  We  live  in  sinful  times." 

The  princes  exchanged  a  quick  glance;  they  saw 
that  the  conversation  would  not  go  very  easily. 

"  But  the  sinners  whom  heaven  punishes  you 
assist  for  all  that,  Mr.  Zanti,"  said  Herman.  "  For 
all  these  huts  .  .  ." 

"Are  not  huts.  They  are  sheds,  workshops  or 
temporary  dwellings.  They  will  grow  into  a  settle- 
ment, if  such  be  God's  will  ...  to  enable  men  to 
live  simply,  by  their  work.  Life  is  so  simple,  but 
man  has  made  it  so  strange  and  complicated." 

"  But  you  take  in  the  peasants  who  have  lost  their 
all  through  the  inundations?  "  Herman  persisted. 

"  I  don't  take  them.  When  they  feel  their  sins, 
they  come  to  me  and  I  save  them  from  destruction." 

"  And  do  they  not  come  to  you  also  without 
feeling  their  sins,  because  they  feel  that  they  will 
get  food  and  lodging  for  nothing?  " 

"They  get  no  food  and  lodging  for  nothing: 
they  have  to  work  here,  sir!"  said  the  old  man. 
"  And  perhaps  more  than  you,  who  walk  about  in  a 
uniform.  .  .  .  They  are  paid,  according  to  the 


MAJESTY  91 

amount  of  work  they  do,  out  of  the  common  fund. 
They  are  building  here  and  I  build  with  them.  Do 
you  see  this  tree  here  and  this  axe?  I  was  employed 
in  felling  down  this  tree  when  you  came  and  inter- 
rupted me." 

"  A  capital  exercise,"  said  Herman.  "  You  look 
a  vigorous  man." 

"  So  you  say  you  are  forming  a  settlement  here?  " 
asked  Othomar. 

'Yes,  sir.  The  cities  are  corrupt;  life  in  the 
country  is  purifying.  Here  they  live;  farther  on 
lies  arable  land,  which  I  give  them,  and  pasture- 
land;  I  shall  buy  cattle  for  them." 

"  So  you  are  simply  trying  to  recruit  farmers 
here?  "  asked  Herman. 

"  No,  sir!  "  answered  the  grey-beard  gruffly.  "  I 
recruit  no  farmers;  they  are  not  my  farmers.  They 
are  their  own  farmers.  They  work  for  themselves 
and  I  am  a  simple  farmer  like  them.  We  are  all 
equal.  .  .  ." 

"  You  are  a  simple  farmer,"  Prince  Herman 
echoed,  "  yet  you  live  in  a  castle." 

"  No,  young  man,"  replied  Zanti,  "  I  do  not  live 
in  a  castle;  I  live  here;  my  daughter  lives  there  by 
herself.  She  is  ill.  .  .  .  She  would  not  be  able  to 
stand  an  alteration  in  her  mode  of  life,  or  any 
deprivation.  But  she  will  not  live  long.  .  .  ." 

He  glanced  up,  looked  at  the  Princes  alternately, 
askance,  almost  anxiously: 

"  She  is  my  only  weakness,  I  think,"  he  said,  in  a 
faint,  deprecating  voice.  "She  is  my  sin;  I  have 
called  in  doctors  for  her  and  believe  in  what  they 
say  and  prescribe.  You  see,  she  would  not  be  able 


92  MAJESTY 

to  do  it  .  .  .  to  follow  me  in  all  things,  for  she  has 
too  much  of  the  past  in  her  poor  blood.  For  her, 
a  castle  and  comfort  are  necessities,  vital  necessities. 
Therefore  I  leave  her  there.  .  .  .  But  she  will  not 
live  long.  .  .  .  And  then  I  shall  sell  it  and  divide 
the  money,  every  penny  of  it,  among  them  all.  .  .  . 
You  see,  that  is  my  weakness,  my  sin;  I  am  only 
human.  .  .  ." 

The  princes  saw  him  display  emotion;  his  hands 
trembled.  Then  he  seemed  to  feel  that  he  had  al- 
ready spoken  to  them  too  much  and  too  long  of  what 
lay  nearest  to  his  heart,  his  sin.  And  he  pointed  to 
the  buildings,  explained  their  uses.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  read  some  of  your  pamphlets,  Mr. 
Zanti,"  said  the  crown-prince.  "  Do  you  apply 
your  ideas  on  matrimony  here?  " 

"  I  apply  nothing,"  the  grey-beard  growled,  re- 
suming his  tone  of  contradiction.  "  I  leave  them 
free  to  do  as  they  please.  If  they  wish  to  get  mar- 
ried according  to  your  law,  they  can;  but,  if  they 
come  to  me,  I  bless  them  and  let  them  go  in  peace, 
for  it  is  written,  '  Again  I  say  to  you,  that  if  two 
of  you  shall  consent  upon  earth,  concerning  any 
thing  whatsoever  they  shall  ask,  it  shall  be  done  for 
them  by  my  father  who  is  in  heaven.  For  where 
there  are  two  or  three  gathered  together  in  my 
name,  there  am  I  in  the  midst  of  them.' ' 

"And  how  do  you  rule  so  many  followers?" 
asked  Herman. 

"  I  don't  rule  them,  sir !  "  roared  the  old  man, 
clenching  his  fists,  his  face  red  with  fury.  "  I  am 
no  more  than  any  of  them.  The  father  has  au- 
thority in  his  own  household  and  the  old  men  give 


MAJESTY  93 

advice,  because  they  have  experience :  that  is  all. 
Life  is  so  simple.  .  .  ." 

"  As  you  picture  it,  but  not  in  reality,"  objected 
Herman. 

Zanti  looked  at  him  angrily,  stopped  still,  to  be 
able  to  talk  with  greater  ease,  and,  passionately,  vio- 
lently, exclaimed: 

"  And  do  you  in  reality  find  it  better  than  I  picture 
it?  I  do  not,  sir,  and  I  hope  to  turn  my  picture 
into  reality.  You  and  yours  once,  ages  ago,  made 
your  picture  reality;  now  it  is  the  turn  of  us  others: 
your  reality  has  lasted  long  enough.  .  .  ." 

Othomar,  haughtily,  tried  to  say  something  in 
opposition;  the  old  man,  however,  suddenly 
turned  to  him  and,  gently  though  roughly,  said,  his 
penetrating,  fanatical  voice  which  made  Othomar 
shudder: 

"  For  you,  sir,  I  feel  pity !  I  do  not  hate  you, 
although  you  may  think  I  do..  I  hate  nobody.  The 
older  I  have  grown,  the  less  I  have  learned  to  hate, 
the  more  softness  has  entered  into  me.  See  here :  I 
hear  something  in  your  voice  and  see  something  in 
your  eyes  that  .  .  .  that  attracts  me,  sir.  I  tell 
you  this  straight  out.  It  is  very  foolish  of  me, 
perhaps,  to  talk  like  this  to  my  future  emperor. 
But  it  is  so:  something  in  you  attracts  me.  And  I 
feel  pity  for  you.  Do  you  know  why?  Because 
the  time  will  come !  " 

He  suddenly  pointed  upwards,  with  a  strange 
impressiveness,  and  continued: 

'  The  hour  will  come.  Perhaps  it  is  very  near. 
If  it  does  not  come  in  your  father's  reign,  it  will 
come  in  your  reign  or  your  son's.  But  come  it  will  I 


94  MAJESTY 

And  therefore  I  feel  pity  for  you.  For  you  will 
not  have  enough  love  for  your  people.  Not  enough 
love  to  say  to  them,  '  I  am  as  all  of  you  and  nothing 
more.  I  will  possess  no  more  than  any  of  you,  for 
I  do  not  want  abundance  while  you  suffer  need.  I 
will  not  rule  over  you,  for  I  am  only  a  human  being 
like  yourselves  and  no  more  human  than  you.'  Are 
you  more  human?  If  you  were  more,  then  you 
would  be  entitled  to  rule,  yes,  then,  then  .  .  .  See 
here,  young  man :  you  will  never  have  so  much  love 
for  your  people  as  to  do  all  this,  oh,  and  more  still 
and  more !  You  will  govern  and  possess  abundance 
and  wage  war.  But  the  time  will  come !  There- 
fore I  have  pity  for  you  .  .  .  although  I  oughtn't 
to!" 

Othomar  had  turned  pale;  even  Herman  gave  a 
little  shudder.  It  was  more  because  of  the  oracular 
voice  of  the  man  who  was  prophesying  the  doom  of 
their  sovereignty  than  because  of  his  words.  But 
Herman  shook  off  his  shudder  and,  angrily, 
haughtily : 

"  I  cannot  say  that  you  are  polite  to  your  guests, 
Mr.  Zanti,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  speak  of  his  im- 
perial highness.  .  .  ." 

Zanti  looked  at  Othomar: 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said.  "  I  spoke  like  that  for 
your  sake.  Your  eyes  are  like  my  daughter's. 
That's  why  I  spoke  as  I  did." 

Herman  burst  out  laughing: 

"  A  valid  reason,  no  doubt,  Mr.  Zanti." 

Othomar,  however,  signed  to  him  to  cease  his 
tone  of  persiflage  and  also  with  a  glance  restrained 
his  equerries,  who  had  listened  to  Zanti's  oracular 


MAJESTY  95 

utterances  in  speechless  indignation :  the  old  man  had 
addressed  Othomar  almost  in  a  whisper.  His  last 
words,  however,  which  resounded  with  emotion, 
changed  this  indignation  into  bewilderment,  calmed 
their  anger,  made  them  regard  the  prophet  as  half 
a  madman,  whose  treason  the  crown-prince  was 
graciously  pleased  to  excuse.  And  the  officers 
looked  at  one  another,  raised  their  eyebrows, 
shrugged  their  shoulders.  Dutri  grinned.  Otho- 
mar asked  Zanti  coolly  whether  they  had  not  better 
proceed. 

The  settlement  was  very  much  in  its  first  stage; 
yet  a  few  farm-houses  were  beginning  to  rise  up, 
chestnut-trees  lay  felled,  hundreds  of  peasants  were 
busily  working. 

The  group  of  officers  excited  great  curiosity;  the 
princes  had  been  recognized.  On  almost  every  side 
the  people  stopped  work,  followed  the  uniforms  with 
their  eyes. 

The  princes  and  their  suite  felt  instinctively  that 
a  hostile  feeling  was  passing  through  Zanti's  peas- 
ants. When  they  asked  a  question  here  and  there 
about  the  sufferings  experienced,  the  answer  sounded 
curt  and  rough,  with  a  reference  to  the  will  of  God, 
and  was  always  like  an  echo  of  Zanti's  own  words. 
Pecuniary  assistance  seemed  uncalled  for.  And 
Zanti  had  really  nothing  to  show.  The  settlement 
made  a  poor  impression  on  Othomar,  perhaps  be- 
cause of  a  sort  of  mortified  sovereignty.  He  was 
accustomed  always  to  be  approached  with  respect, 
as  a  future  majesty;  and  his  sensitiveness  was  more 
deeply  wounded  by  Zanti's  bluntness,  by  the  surliness 
of  Zanti's  peasants,  than  he  himself  was  willing  to 


96  MAJESTY 

admit.  He  felt  that  at  this  spot  they  saw  in  him 
not  the  crown-prince  who  loved  his  people  and 
wanted  to  learn  how  to  succour  them,  but  the  son 
of  a  tyrant,  who  would  act  as  a  tyrant  also  when  his 
turn  came.  He  felt  that,  though  Zanti  called  him- 
self the  apostle  of  peace,  this  peace  was  not  in  his 
disciples;  and,  when  he  looked  into  their  rough, 
sullen  faces,  he  saw  hatred  gleam  luridly  from  deep, 
hollow  eyes,  as  with  sudden  lightning-flashes.  .  .  . 

The  weight  of  it  all  fell  heavily  upon  his  chest; 
his  impotence  pressed  with  a  world  of  inconsolable 
misery  and  unappeasable  grief  upon  his  shoulders, 
as  though  to  bear  him  to  the  ground.  It  was  the 
misery  and  grief  not  of  one,  but  of  thousands, 
millions.  Vindictive  eyes  multiplied  themselves 
around  him  in  a  ferment  of  hatred ;  each  one  of  his 
people  who  asked  happiness  of  him,  demanding  it 
and  not  receiving  it,  seemed  to  be  there,  staring  at 
him  with  those  wide  eyes.  .  .  . 

He  felt  himself  turning  giddy  with  an  immfense 
feeling  of  helplessness.  He  looked  for  nothing 
more,  this  was  the  end.  And  he  was  not  surprised 
at  what  happened:  the  man  with  the  brown,  hairy, 
distorted  face,  who  rushed  upon  him  like  a  night- 
mare and  laid  hold  of  him,  full  of  hatred.  A  foul, 
tobacco-laden  breath  swept  over  his  face,  a  coarse 
knife  in  a  coarse  fist  flashed  towards  his  throat.  .  .  . 

A  cry  arose.  A  shot  rang  out,  sharp,  determined, 
with  no  suspicion  of  hesitation.  The  man  cursed 
out  a  hoarse  yell,  gnashing  his  teeth  in  revolt,  and 
struggled,  dying.  His  brains  splashed  over  Otho- 
mar,  soiling  the  prince's  uniform.  And  the  man 


MAJESTY  97 

plumped  down  at  his  feet  on  the  ground,  grown 
limp  at  once,  with  relaxed  muscles,  still  clutching 
the  knife  in  his  hairy  fingers.  All  this  had  hap- 
pened in  a  single  instant. 

It  was  Von  Fest  who  had  fired  the  shot  from  a 
revolver.  The  colonel  drew  up  his  broad  figure, 
looked  around  him,  still  held  the  revolver  raised  at 
a  threatening  slant.  The  people  stood  staring, 
motionless,  perplexed  by  the  sudden  reality  before 
their  eyes. 

Zanti,  stupefied,  gazed  at  the  corpse ;  then  he  said, 
while  the  startled  officers  stood  by  in  fussy  confu- 
sion around  the  prince : 

"  Now  go  and,  if  you  can,  go  in  peace !  .  .  ." 

Full  of  bitterness,  he  pointed  to  the  corpse.  He 
shook  his  head,  with  the  grey  locks  under  the  felt 
hat;  tears  sprang  to  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  kill !  "  they  heard  him  mutter. 
"  They  seem  not  to  know  that  yet;  nobody  knows  it 
yet!  .  .  ." 

A  strange,  mad  look  troubled  his  normally  clear, 
grey  eyes;  he  seemed  for  a  moment  not  to  know 
what  he  should  do.  Then  he  went  to  a  tree,  caught 
up  the  axe  and,  without  taking  further  notice  of  the 
princes,  began  to  hew  like  a  lunatic,  blow  upon 
blow.  .  .  . 

The  officers  hurried  to  their  horses.  Dutri  gave 
a  last  look  back:  near  the  corpse,  now  surrounded 
by  peasants,  he  saw  a  woman  standing;  she  sobbed, 
her  desperate  arms  flung  to  heaven,  she  howled, 
she  shook  her  fist  at  the  equerry's  turned  face, 
screaming. 


98  MAJESTY 

Othomar  had  said  nothing.  He  heard  the 
woman  howling  behind  him.  He  quivered  in  every 
nerve.  On  the  road,  preparing  to  mount,  Ducardi 
asked  him,  agitatedly: 

"  Shall  we  return  to  Castel  Vaza,  highness?  " 

The  prince  looked  at  the  general  haughtily. 
Quickly  the  thought  flashed  through  him  that  the 
general  had  strongly  opposed  his  coming  here.  He 
shook  his  head. 

Then  his  eyes  sought  Von  Fest:  they  glanced  up 
at  the  colonel  under  their  eyelids,  deep-black,  moist, 
almost  reproachful. 

But  he  held  out  his  hand: 

"  Thank  you,  colonel,"  he  said,  in  a  husky  voice. 

The  colonel  pressed  the  hand  which  the  prince 
offered  him: 

"Glad  to  be  of  service,  highness!"  he  replied, 
with  soldierly  brusqueness. 

"  And  now  let  us  go  on  to  the  Zanthos,"  said 
Othomar,  walking  up  to  his  horse. 

But  the  old  general  could  master  himself  no 
longer.  In  these  last  moments  he  had  felt  all  his 
passionate  love  —  seated  hereditarily,  firmly  in  his 
blood,  of  a  piece  with  him,  his  very  soul  and  all  that 
soul  —  for  the  reigning  house.  His  fathers  had 
died  for  it  in  battle,  without  hesitation.  And  with 
the  mad,  wide  embrace  of  his  long,  powerful  old 
arms,  he  ran  up  to  Othomar,  grateful  that  he  was 
alive,  pressed  him  as  if  he  would  crush  him  against 
his  breast,  until  the  buttons  of  his  uniform  scratched 
Othomar's  cheek,  and  cried,  sobbing,  under  his 
trembling  moustache: 

"  My  prince,  my  prince,  my  prince  I  ..." 


MAJESTY  99 


8 

The  attempt  on  Othomar's  life  was  known  at 
Castel  Vaza  before  the  princes  returned,  from 
peasants  of  the  duke's,  who  had  told  the  castle- 
servants  long  stories  of  how  the  prince  had  been 
severely  wounded.  The  duchess  had  at  first  re- 
fused to  believe  it;  then,  in  rising  anxiety,  in  the 
greatest  tension  and  uncertainty,  she  had  walked 
about  the  corridors.  She  had  first  tried  to  persuade 
herself  that  the  people  were  sure  to  exaggerate. 
When  she  reflected  that,  in  the  event  of  Othomar's 
being  wounded,  the  princes  and  the  equerries  would 
have  returned  at  once,  she  became  more  tranquil 
and  waited  patiently. 

But  the  chamberlain,  who  had  been  to  Vaza,  re- 
turned in  dismay:  people  were  very  uneasy  in  the 
town,  pressing  round  the  doors  of  the  newspaper- 
offices  to  read  the  bulletins,  which  mentioned  the 
attempt  briefly,  with  the  provoking  comment  that 
further  particulars  were  not  yet  to  hand.  The 
duchess  realized  that  by  this  time  the  bulletin  had 
also  been  telegraphed  to  Lipara;  and  she  feared  not 
only  that  Othomar  had  met  with  harm,  but  that  she 
herself  would  lose  favour  with  the  empress.  .  .  . 

When  the  duchess  at  last,  after  long  watching 
from  a  window  in  the  west  corridor,  saw  the  princes 
and  their  suite  come  trotting,  very  small,  along  a 
distant  road,  she  could  not  restrain  herself  and 
went  to  meet  them  in  the  courtyard.  But  she  saw 
that  Othomar  was  unhurt.  The  Duke  of  Xara  dis- 
mounted, smiled,  gave  her  his  hand;  she  kissed  it, 
curtseying,  ardently;  her  tears  fell  down  upon  it. 


ioo  MAJESTY 

The  chamberlain  approached,  assured  Othomar,  in 
the  name  of  all  the  duke's  servants,  of  their  heartfelt 
gratitude  that  the  Duke  of  Xara  had  been  spared,  by 
the  grace  of  God  and  the  succour  of  St.  Ladislas. 

Ducardi  had  not  been  able  to  telegraph  from  any- 
where before,  but  he  now  sent  in  all  haste  to  Vaza 
with  a  message  for  the  emperor,  mentioning  at  the 
same  time  that  the  prince  had  calmly  resumed  the 
expedition  immediately  after  the  attempt  upon  his 
life.  Dinner  took  place  amid  a  babel  of  voices; 
the  duchess  was  greatly  excited,  asked  for  the 
smallest  details  and  almost  embraced  Von  Fest. 
The  crown-prince  drank  to  his  preserver  and  every 
one  paid  him  tribute. 

Afterwards  Ducardi  advised  the  crown-prince,  in 
an  aside,  to  retire  early  to  rest.  The  general  spoke 
in  a  gentle  voice;  it  seemed  as  though  the  thought 
that  he  might  have  lost  his  crown-prince  had  made 
him  fonder  of  him.  Herman  too  pressed  Othomar 
to  go  to  bed. 

He  himself  had  grown  calm,  but  a  vague  feeling 
of  lassitude  had  come  over  all  his  being:  he  had 
even  drunk  Von  Fest's  health  in  a  strangely  weary 
voice.  He  now  took  their  advice,  withdrew,  un- 
dressed himself;  his  soiled  uniform,  which  he  had 
changed  before  dinner,  still  hung  over  a  chair;  he 
shuddered  to  think  that  he  had  worn  it  the  whole 
afternoon: 

'  Those  things !  "  he  said  to  Andro,  who  was  still 
quite  confused  and,  nervously  weeping,  was  tidying 
up.  "  Burn  them,  or  throw  them  away,  throw  them 
away." 


MAJESTY  101 

Othomar  flung  himself  in  his  dressing-gown  on  a 
couch  in  the  room  adjoining  his  bedroom.  This  was 
also  an  historical  apartment,  with  tapestry  on  the 
walls  representing  scenes  from  the  history  of  Lipara : 
the  Emperor  Berengar  I.,  triumphantly  riding  into 
Jerusalem,  with  his  crusaders  holding  aloft  their 
white  banners;  the  Empress  Xaveria,  seated  on 
horseback  in  her  golden  armour  before  the  walls  of 
Altara,  falling  backwards,  struck  dead  by  a  Turkish 
arrow.  .  .  . 

The  prince  lay  staring  at  them.  A  deadly  calm 
seemed  to  make  him  feel  nothing,  care  about  no- 
thing. In  his  own  mind  he  reviewed  the  whole 
historical  period  from  Berengar  to  Xaveria.  He 
knew  the  dates;  the  scenes  passed  cloudily  before 
his  eyes  as  though  tapestries  were  being  unrolled, 
kaleidoscopically,  with  the  faded  colours  of  old  art- 
work. He  saw  himself  again,  a  small  boy,  in  the 
Imperial,  in  an  austere  room,  diligently  learning  his 
lessons;  he  saw  his  masters,  relieving  one  another: 
languages,  history,  political  economy,  international 
law,  strategy;  it  had  all  heaped  itself  upon  his  young 
brain,  piled  itself  up,  built  itself  up  like  a  tower. 
By  way  of  change,  his  military  education  —  drilling, 
riding,  fencing  —  conducted  by  General  Ducardi, 
who  praised  him  or  grumbled  at  him,  or  growled  at 
the  sergeants  who  instructed  him.  He  had  never 
been  able  to  learn  mathematics,  had  never  under- 
stood a  word  of  algebra;  in  many  subjects  he  had 
always  remained  weak:  natural  philosophy  and 
chemistry,  for  instance.  For  a  time  he  had  taken 
great  pleasure  in  the  study  of  mineralogy  and 


102  MAJESTY 

zoology  and  botany;  and  afterwards  he  had  shown 
some  enthusiasm  for  astronomy.  Then  came  the 
university  and  his  legal  studies.  .  .  . 

He  remembered  his  little  vanities  as  a  child  and 
as  a  boy,  when  in  his  ninth  year  he  had  become  a 
lieutenant  in  the  throne-guards;  when  later  he  had 
received  the  Garter  from  the  Queen  of  England  and 
the  Black  Eagle  from  the  German  Emperor  and  the 
Golden  Fleece  from  the  Queen-regent  of  Spain. 
With  such  minor  vanity  there  had  always  been  min- 
gled a  certain  dread  of  possible  obligations  which  the 
Garter  or  the  Eagle  might  imply:  obligations  which 
hovered  vaguely  before  his  eyes,  which  he  dared  not 
define  and  still  less  ask  about  of  Ducardi,  of  his 
father.  Gradually  these  threatening  obligations 
had  become  so  heavy  and  now,  now  they  were  the 
weights  that  bore  upon  his  chest.  .  .  . 

The  weights.  .  .  .  But  he  did  not  stir,  feeling 
strangely  calm.  Then  he  thought  of  Von  Fest, 
of  the  duchess.  .  .  .  Yesterday,  her  kiss.  .  .  .  He 
had  lain  swooning  on  her  shoulder  and  she  had 
kissed  him  and  long  watched  him  with  passionate 
looks.  And  all  those  stories  of  the  equerries.  .  .  . 

Then  it  came  as  with  a  fierce  wave  foaming  over 
his  absolute  calmness.  .  .  . 

Why  had  that  man  hated  him,  tried  to  murder 
him,  tried  to  slay  him  like  a  beast?  .  .  .  Pride 
welled  up  in  him,  pride  and  despair.  The  man  had 
touched  him,  soiled  him  with  his  breath,  him,  the 
crown-prince,  the  Duke  of  Xara !  He  gnashed  his 
teeth  with  rage.  That  was  a  thing  which  Berengar 
I.  would  never  have  suffered!  Off  with  his  head! 
Off  with  his  head!  .  .  .  Oh,  that  populace  which 


MAJESTY  103 

did  not  know,  which  did  not  feel,  which  pressed  up 
against  him,  seething  and  foaming  against  the 
throne,  which  terrified  his  mother,  however  haugh- 
tily she  might  look  beyond  it  into  the  distance,  with 
her  imperial  composure !  .  .  . 

How  he  hated  it,  hated  it,  with  all  the  hatred  of 
his  house  for  those  who  were  now  free  and  were 
yet  once  its  slaves !  How  he  would  have  them  shot 
down,  have  them  shot  down  when  he  came  into 
power!  .  .  . 

He  looked  at  Xaveria :  she  herself  was  shot  down, 
the  haughty  amazon;  backwards  she  fell,  wounded 
by  the  arrow  of  a  Turkish  soldier.  And  he,  that 
morning,  if  Von  Fest  had  not  .  .  . 

He  threw  himself  back  wildly,  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands  and  sobbed.  No,  no,  oh  no!  He 
would  not  shoot  them  down,  not  kill  them,  not  hate 
them!  He  was  not  like  that:  he  might  be  like  that 
for  a  moment,  but  he  was  not  like  that!  He  was 
fond  of  his  people;  he  was  so  grateful  when  they 
rejoiced,  when  he  was  able  to  help  them.  Surely 
he  would  never  have  them  shot  on!  He  was  only 
growing  excited  now.  What  was  there  in  his  soul 
for  all  of  them,  for  those  millions,  of  whom  he  had 
perhaps  seen  only  a  few  thousands  and  knew  only 
a  few  hundreds,  but  one  great  love,  which  threw 
out  arms  to  them  in  every  direction,  to  embrace 
them?  Had  he  not  felt  this  in  that  black  night 
on  the  Therezia  Square?  Were  hatred  and  vio- 
lence his?  No,  oh  no!  He  was  soft,  perhaps  too 
soft,  too  irresolute,  but  he  would  grow  older,  he 
would  grow  stronger;  he  would  wish  to  and  he 
would  make  all  of  them  happy.  Oh,  if  they  only 


104  MAJESTY 

cared  for  him,  if  they  only  loved  him  with  their 
great  mass  of  surging,  black,  frothing  humanity, 
a  sable  Milky  Way  of  swarming  souls,  each  soul  a 
spark,  like  his  own;  oh,  if  they  only  loved  him! 
But  they  must  not  hate  him,  not  look  at  him  with 
those  bloodshot  eyes  of  hatred,  not  aim  at  his  throat 
with  those  coarse,  hairy  fingers,  not  try  to  murder 
him,  O  God,  not  try  to  slay  him  like  a  bullock,  with 
a  common  knife,  him,  their  future  sovereign!  .  .  . 

And  he  felt  that  they  did  not  belong  to  him  and 
did  not  know  him  and  did  not  understand  him  and 
did  not  love  him,  all  of  them,  and  that  they  hated 
him  merely  out  of  instinct,  because  he  was  born 
upon  the  throne ! 

And  his  despair  because  of  all  this  spanned  out, 
immense,  a  desert  of  black  night,  which  he  felt 
eternities  wide  around  him;  and  he  sobbed,  sobbed, 
like  an  inconsolable  child,  because  this  was  as  it  was 
and  would  become  more  desperate  with  each  day 
that  brought  him  nearer  to  his  future  as  emperor 
and  to  their  future:  the  mournful  day  which  would 
rise  upon  the  destruction  of  the  old  world.  .  .  . 

Then  there  came  a  knock  at  a  little  door ;  -and  the 
door  was  softly  opened.  .  .  . 

"Who's  there?"  he  asked,  startled,  feeling  the 
breach  of  etiquette,  not  understanding  why  Andro 
had  not  come  through  the  anteroom  to  announce 
whoever  it  might  be. 

"  If  your  highness  permits  me  .  .  ." 

He  recognized  the  duchess'  soft  voice,  rose,  went 
to  the  door : 

"  Come  in,  duchess.  .  .  ." 

She  entered,  hesitatingly;  she  had  thrown  a  long 


MAJESTY  105 

cloak  over  her  bare  shoulders  to  go  through  the 
chilly  passages  of  the  castle.  .  .  . 

"  Forgive  me,  highness,  if  I  intrude  ...  if  I 
disturb  you.  .  .  ." 

He  smiled,  said  no,  apologized  for  his  costume, 
feeling  surprised  and  pleased.  .  .  . 

She  saw  that  his  eyes  were  swimming  with 
moisture: 

"  I  am  indiscreet,"  she  said,  "  but  I  couldn't  help 
it;  I  felt  I  must  find  out  how  you  were,  highness. 
.  .  .  Perhaps  I  wished  to  surprise  you  as  well:  I 
don't  quite  know.  Something  impelled  me:  I  could 
not  help  coming  to  you.  You  are  my  guest  and 
my  crown-prince;  I  longed  to  see  for  myself  how 
you  were.  .  .  .  Your  highness  bore  up  well  at  din- 
ner, but  I  felt  .  .  ." 

.  Her  voice  flowed  on,  soft  and  monotonous,  as 
though  with  drops  of  balsam.  He  asked  her  to  sit 
down;  she  did  so;  he  sat  down  by  her  side;  the 
dark  cloak  slipped  off  and  she  was  magnificent,  with 
her  white  neck,  siren-like  in  her  opalescent,  pale-green 
watered  silk.  He  noticed  that  she  had  laid  aside 
the  jewels  which  she  had  worn  at  dinner. 

"  I  wanted  to  come  to  you  quietly,  through  that 
door,"  she  resumed,  "  in  order  to  tell  you  once 
more,  to  tell  you  alone,  how  unspeakably  thankful 
I  am  that  your  highness'  life  has  been  pre- 
served. .  .  ." 

Her  voice  trembled;  her  ebony  glances  grew 
moist;  the  light  of  the  great  candles  in  the  silver 
candelabra  shimmered  over  the  silk  of  her  dress, 
played  with  soft  light  and  slumbering  shadow  in  the 
modelling  of  her  face,  in  the  curve  of  her  bosom. 


io6  MAJESTY 

He  pressed  her  hand;  she  retained  his: 

"  Was  your  highness  crying  when  I  came  in?  " 
she  asked. 

His  tears  were  still  flowing,  a  last  sob  heaved 
through  his  body. 

"Why?"  she  asked  again.  "Or  am  I  indis- 
creet? .  .  ." 

He  looked  at  her;  at  this  moment  he  could  have 
told  her  everything.  And,  though  he  contained 
himself,  yet  he  gave  her  the  essence  of  his  grief: 

"  I  was  sad,"  he  said,  "  because  they  seem  to  hate 
me.  Nothing  makes  me  so  sad  as  their  hatred." 

She  looked  at  him  long,  felt  his  sorrow,  under- 
stood him  with  her  feminine  tact,  with  her  courtier- 
like  swiftness  of  comprehension,  which  had  ripened 
in  the  immediate  contact  of  her  sovereigns.  She 
understood  him:  he  was  the  crown-prince,  he  must 
suffer  his  special  princely  suffering;  he  must  drink 
an  imperial  cup  of  bitterness  to  the  dregs.  She 
remembered  that  she  herself  had  suffered,  so  often 
and  so  violently,  for  love,  passionate  woman  that 
she  was;  she  understood  that  his  suffering  was 
different  from  hers,  but  doubtless  more  terrible,  as 
it  seized  him  already  at  so  young  an  age  and  as  it 
depended  not  upon  his  own  single  soul,  but  upon  the 
millions  of  souls  of  his  empire.  She  too  had  suf- 
fered because  she  had  not  been  loved;  he  also 
suffered  like  that.  And  so  in  one  instant  she  under- 
stood him  quite  entirely,  with  all  her  strange 
woman's  heart. 

A  thrill  of  compassion  welled  up  in  her  breast 
as  a  yet  unknown  delight  and,  like  a  fervent,  gentle 
oracle,  she  uttered  the  words : 


MAJESTY  107 

"  They  do  not  all  hate  you.  .  .  ." 

He  recognized  her  passionate  glances  of  the  day 
before.  He  remembered  her  kiss.  He  looked  at 
her  long,  still  hesitating  a  little  in  the  presence  of 
the  unknown.  Then  he  extended  his  arms  and, 
with  a  dull  cry  of  despair,  hoarse  with  hunger 
for  consolation,  he  called  to  her  in  his  helpless- 
ness: 

"  Oh,  Alexa !  .  .  ." 

She  first  smiled,  with  radiant  eyes,  then  flung 
herself  bodily  into  his  young  arms,  crushing  him 
against  her  bare  breast.  She  felt  like  a  maid  and 
a  mother  in  one.  But,  when  he  clung  to  her  in  a 
wild  passion  of  despair,  she  felt  herself  to  be  no- 
thing but  a  lover.  She  knew  that  he  would  be  her 
last  love.  The  knowledge  made  her  proudly  sad 
and  diabolically  happy.  Her  kisses  clattered  upon 
his  eyes  like  hail.  .  .  . 

And  in  their  love,  that  night,  they  mingled  the 
wormwood  of  what  they  both  were  suffering,  each 
seeking  consolation  for  life's  sorrows  in  the 
other. 


"  TO  HIS  IMPERIAL  HIGHNESS  THE  DUKE  OF  XARA, 

"  LYCILIA. 

"  THE  IMPERIAL, 

"  Li  PARA, 

"—April,  1 8— . 
"  MY  DEAR  BROTHER, 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  before  you  read  it  in  those 
tedious  papers  that  our  respected  father  and  em- 


io8  MAJESTY 

peror  this  morning,  on  my  tenth  birthday,  dubbed 
me  a  knight  of  St.  Ladislas  in  the  knights'  hall  of 
the  palace.  You  can  understand  how  proud  I  feel. 
I  shall  not  tell  you  about  the  ceremony,  because 
you  will  remember  that  yourself.  I  was  very  much 
impressed  as  I  walked  up  to  our  father  between 
all  those  tall  knights  in  their  blue  mantles  and  knelt 
before  his  throne.  I  wore  my  new  uniform  of  a 
lieutenant  in  the  guards.  The  king-at-arms,  the 
Marquis  of  Ezzera,  held  up  the  rule  of  the  order 
on  a  cushion,  on  which  I  took  the  oath.  I  must 
have  looked  rather  small  with  my  little  mantle: 
the  cross  of  St.  Ladislas  was  just  as  big  on  it,  how- 
ever, as  on  those  of  all  the  others.  I  felt  that  they 
were  all  looking  over  my  head;  and  that  is  not  a 
pleasant  feeling  when  you  are  the  hero  of  the  day. 
But  of  course  I  am  the  youngest  of  the  knights,  so 
there  is  no  harm  in  my  being  a  little  shorter.  The 
sword  our  father  gave  me  is  also  a  little  smaller  than 
that  of  the  other  knights,  but  the  hilt  is  rather  pretty 
and  blazes  with  precious  stones.  Still,  I  think  I 
prefer  the  chasing  on  the  scabbard  of  yours,  but 
when  I  am  eighteen  —  so  in  eight  years  from  now ! 
—  I  am  to  have  another  sword  and  of  course  an- 
other mantle  too. 

"  Mamma  was  terribly  alarmed  and  nervous 
when  she  heard  of  that  man  who  attacked  you  and 
she  wanted  to  have  you  recalled  at  once,  because  it 
did  not  seem  safe  where  you  are;  and  she  simply 
could  not  understand  that  this  could  not  be  done. 
But  safe:  who  is  safe  nowadays?  One's  not  safe 
in  war  either  and  not  even  here  in  the  Imperial. 
One  shouldn't  think  so  much  of  all  that  safety, 


MAJESTY  109 

that's  what  I  say;  but  of  course  mamma  is  a  woman 
and  therefore  she  thinks  differently  from  what  we 
do.  The  riots  and  the  martial  law  also  upset  her, 
but  I  think  it  rather  jolly:  everything's  military  now, 
you  know.  That  Von  Fest  is  a  fine  fellow.  I 
should  like  to  shake  hands  with  him  and  to  thank 
him  myself;  but,  as  I  can't,  I  beg  you  particularly 
to  do  so  for  me  and  on  no  account  to  forget  it. 
You  have  heard,  no  doubt,  through  General  Du- 
cardi,  that  papa  is  going  to  make  Von  Fest  a  com- 
mander of  the  Imperial  Orb.  What  a  pity  that  we 
can't  create  him  a  knight  of  St.  Ladislas,  but  for 
that  of  course  he  would  have  to  be  a  Liparian  and 
not  a  Gothlander. 

"  Now,  dear  brother,  I  must  finish,  because 
Colonel  Fasti  is  expecting  me  for  my  fencing-lesson. 
Give  my  very  kindest  regards  to  Herman  and  Ge- 
neral Ducardi  and  remember  me  to  the  others;  and 
accept  for  yourself  the  fond  embrace  of  your  affect- 
ionate brother, 

"  BERENGAH, 
"  Marquis  of  Thracyna 
"(Knight  of  St.  Ladislas)." 


CHAPTER  III 


IT  was  after  the  opening  of  the  new  parliament. 
The  sun  streamed  as  though  with  square  patches 
of  molten  gold  along  the  white  palaces  of  the  town, 
touching  with  blue  what  was  shadow  in  the  corners. 
Two  regiments  of  grenadiers,  red  and  blue,  stood 
in  two  double  lines,  drawn  up  along  the  principal 
streets  which  led  from  the  Parliament  House  to  the 
Imperial.  The  crowd  pressed  and  tossed  and 
cheered;  all  the  windows,  open  wide,  swarmed  with 
heads;  people  looked  on  from  every  balcony.  A 
shot  thundered  from  Fort  Wenceslas  on  the  sea ;  the 
emperor  returned;  the  grenadiers  presented  arms 
in  company  after  company.  .  .  . 

The  lancers  lead  the  van,  blue  and  white,  with 
streaming  pennants  at  the  points  of  their  lances,  six 
squadrons  of  them.  The  whole  strength  of  the 
throne-guards,  white,  with  breastplates  of  glittering 
gold  flashing  in  the  sunlight  above  the  black  satin 
skins  of  the  stallions,  ride  halberd  on  thigh,  sur- 
rounding the  gently  swaying  state-carriages,  scin- 
tillating with  rich  gilding  and  bright  crystal  and 
two  of  them  crowned  with  the  imperial  crown, 
with  teams  of  six  and  eight  plumed  greys.  The 
horses  foam  over  their  bits,  impatient,  nervously 
pawing  the  ground,  prancing  because  of  the  slow, 
ceremonious  pace  along  the  blinding,  flagged  road- 
no 


MAJESTY  in 

way.  In  the  first  coach,  the  master  of  ceremonies, 
the  Count  of  Threma ;  in  the  second,  with  the  crown 
and  the  team  of  eight  —  and  the  roar  of  the  cheer- 
ing rises  from  behind  the  hedge  of  soldiers  —  the 
emperor,  his  uniform  all  gold,  his  robes  of  scarlet 
and  ermine,  his  crown  upon  his  head.  It  is  the  only 
time  that  the  people  have  seen  their  emperor  wear 
his  crown. 

And  they  cheer.  But  the  emperor  makes  no 
acknowledgment:  through  the  glass  of  the  coach 
he  looks  out,  to  left  and  right  in  turns,  at  the  crowd, 
with  a  proud  smile  of  self-consciousness  and  vic- 
tory; and  his  face,  full  of  race,  full  of  force,  cold 
with  will,  proud  with  authority,  is  inaccessible  in  its 
smile  as  that  of  a  Roman  emperor  on  his  triumphal 
entry. 

It  is  a  triumphal  entry,  this  return  from  the 
Parliament  House  to  his  Imperial:  a  triumph  over 
that  which  they  denied  him  and  upon  which  he  has 
now  laid  his  heavy  hand,  showing  them  all  that  his 
mere  will  can  bend  them  to  his  word  and  purpose. 
And  the  cheers  rise  louder  and  louder  from  that 
capricious  crowd,  restrained  like  a  woman  by  a  ruler 
whom  it  now  adores  for  his  strength  and  admires  for 
his  imperial  might,  upon  which  he  leans,  as  he  passes 
from  the  Parliament  House  to  his  own  palace,  as 
though  it  were  a  whole  army  that  lived  upon  his 
nod;  and  louder  and  louder,  louder  and  louder  the 
cheers  ring  out  that  sunny  afternoon  over  the  marble 
houses;  and  the  emperor  smiles  continually,  as 
though  his  smile  meant: 

"  Cheer  away!  What  else  can  you  do  but 
cheer?  .  ." 


ii2  MAJESTY 

In  the  next  coach  rides  the  Duke  of  Xara,  robed, 
crowned;  he  stares  rigidly  over  the  vociferating 
crowd  with  the  same  glance  that  his  mother  reserves 
for  the  populace.  In  the  next  to  that,  the  new 
governor-general  of  the  capital,  the  head  of  the 
emperor's  military  household,  the  Duke  of  Mena- 
Doni,  a  rougher  soldier  than  the  Marquis  of  Daz- 
zara  and  a  less  practised  courtier,  under  whose 
military  fist  the  white  capital,  like  a  beaten  slave, 
crouched  low  during  the  martial  law  proclaimed  after 
a  single  hour  of  disturbance  that  ventured  to  follow 
upon  the  emperor's  decision  to  dissolve  the  house  of 
deputies.  His  coarse,  sensual  mouth  smiles  with 
the  same  smile  as  that  of  the  emperor,  whose  rude 
force  he  seems  to  impersonate;  and  he  too  seems 
to  say: 

"  Cheer  away,  shout  hurrah !  " 

Then  the  following  carriages:  the  imperial  chan- 
cellor, Count  Myxila;  the  ministers:  seven  of  them 
forming  part  of  the  twelve  who  wished  to  resign, 
the  others  chosen  from  among  the  most  authorita- 
tive of  the  old  nobility  in  the  house  of  peers  itself! 

Cheer  away,  shout  hurrah ! 

Behind  the  coaches  of  the  higher  court-officials, 
the  Xara  cuirassiers,  the  crown-prince's  own  regi- 
ment; behind  them,  a  regiment  of  colonials:  Afri- 
cans, black  as  polished  ebony,  with  eyes  like  beads, 
their  thick  mouths  thrust  forwards,  clad  in  the 
muslin-like  snow  of  their  burnouses;  behind  them, 
two  regiments  of  hussars  on  heavy  horses,  in  their 
long,  green,  gold-frogged  coats  and  their  tall  busbies. 

Was  ever  parliament  opened  thus  before,  with 
such  a  display  of  military  force?  And  outside  the 


MAJESTY  113 

town,  on  the  high  parade-grounds,  do  not  the  people 
know  that  there  are  troops  drawn  together  from 
every  province,  camping  there  for  the  manoeuvres, 
the  date  of  which  has  been  accelerated?  And  the 
increased  garrisons  of  the  forts,  the  squadron  in  the 
harbour?  Do  the  people  themselves  feel  that  they 
can  do  nothing  else  than  cheer  and  is  that  why  they 
are  cheering  now,  happy  once  more  in  their  cheer- 
ing, with  Roman  docility  and  southern  submission, 
enamoured  of  the  emperor  because  of  the  weight  of 
his  crushing  fist,  loving  the  crown-prince  for  the 
attractive  charm  of  his  attitude  in  the  north,  or 
perhaps  because  they  think  him  interesting  after  an 
unsuccessful  attempt  on  his  life? 

And  they  seem  not  to  feel  that,  through  the 
grenadiers  presenting  arms,  they  see  neither  the 
emperor  nor  the  crown-prince  saluting;  they  cheer 
away,  loving  them  in  spite,  perhaps  because,  of  their 
indifference;  they  cheer  away  like  madmen.  .  .  . 

Slowly  the  procession  wends  its  way  along  the  in- 
terminable main  streets.  The  whole  city,  despite 
its  marble,  trembles  with  the  clatter  of  the  horses' 
hoofs  upon  the  flagged  pavement.  Between  the 
front  escort  and  the  endless  escort  in  the  rear,  the 
state-carriages,  with  their  glittering  throne-guards, 
shimmer  like  a  kind  of  jewel,  small,  rare,  carefully 
guarded.  The  cavalry  are  at  this  moment  the  soul 
of  Lipara,  their  echoing  step  its  heart-beat;  and 
between  the  grenadiers  and  the  tall  houses  the 
massed  and  cheering  populace  seems  to  have  hardly 
room  to  breathe. 

The  procession  approaches  the  Imperial.  Along 
the  immense  marble  fore-court  the  lancers  and 


ii4  MAJESTY 

cuirassiers  range  themselves  on  three  sides,  before 
the  wings  and  along  the  front.  Outside  them  the 
guards  are  drawn  up  in  line.  The  Africans  close 
off  the  courtyard.  .  .  . 

The  carriages  pull  up;  and  the  emperor  alights. 
With  the  crown-prince  by  his  side,  he  goes  through 
the  vestibule  up  the  stairs.  The  corridors  of  the 
palace  swarm  with  gold-laced  uniforms;  a  packed 
suite  crowds  up  behind  Oscar  and  Othomar.  The 
master  of  the  robes,  with  twelve  grooms  of  the  bed- 
chamber, comes  towards  the  emperor,  who  takes 
off  his  crown,  as  does  the  crown-prince;  their  robes 
are  unfastened  for  them. 

They  go  to  the  great  white  hall,  white  with  the 
Corinthian  columns  with  gilt  capitals.  The  em- 
press and  the  Princess  Thera  are  there,  surrounded 
by  their  ladies.  It  is  a  great  day:  in  this  sun- 
apotheosis  of  the  opening  of  parliament  the  mon- 
archy is  triumphing  over  the  threats  of  the  future 
and  deferring  that  future  itself.  The  empress, 
in  her  trailing  pale-mauve  velvet,  steps  towards  her 
spouse  and  curtseys  before  him  ceremoniously.  The 
princess,  the  mistress  of  the  robes,  all  the  ladies 
curtsey.  .  .  . 

Outside,  in  front,  the  square  is  now  filled  by  the 
multitude;  an  excited  popular  clamour  surges  up 
against  the  immovable  palace,  as  it  were  the  sea 
against  a  rock.  The  doors  of  the  centre  balcony  are 
opened.  The  emperor  and  the  prince  will  show 
themselves.  .  .  . 

"  Only  just  salute  once,"  whispers  the  emperor  to 
his  son,  sternly. 

The  sun  outside  rains  down  gold  upon  the  swarm- 


MAJESTY  115 

ing  mass,  tinging  it  with  many-changing,  chameleon, 
southern  tints  between  the  white,  motionless  wings 
of  the  Imperial,  whose  caryatids  look  down  placidly. 
The  imperial  pair  step  on  the  balcony.  Hats  are 
thrown  up  towards  them;  the  yelling  bellows  with  a 
shout  as  from  a  single  noisy,  vulgar  throat  and 
echoes  through  the  open  doors  against  the  gilt 
ceiling  and  columns  of  the  white  hall.  The  empress 
is  frightened  by  it,  turns  pale ;  her  breath  catches.  .  .  . 
On  the  balcony  the  Emperor  of  Liparia  salutes 
his  excited  people  with  a  solitary  wave  of  the  hand; 
the  Duke  of  Xara  bows  his  head  slightly. 


There  was  no  more  talk  of  a  revision  of  the 
constitution  and  reform  of  the  hereditary  house 
of  peers.  The  constitutional  majority  of  three- 
fourths  which  is  required  in  the  house  of  deputies 
before  such  a  proposal  can  be  taken  into  considera- 
tion, though  there  at  first,  no  longer  existed  after 
the  new  elections.  Oscar,  immediately  after  his 
return  from  Altara,  had  shown  them  his  daring 
strength.  Lipara  was  surrounded  with  troops :  this 
was  as  well,  for  the  manoeuvres,  for  the  King  of 
Syria,  who  was  expected.  The  forts  were  strength- 
ened, the  fleet  lay  in  the  harbour;  then  came  the  im- 
perial decree  that  the  house  of  deputies  should  simply 
.  .  .  be  dissolved.  What  an  outcry,  after  the 
promulgation  of  that  decree,  in  the  newspapers  and 
in  the  streets!  For  one  moment,  at  night,  there 
was  an  abortive  riot.  But  the  emperor,  furious 


n6  MAJESTY 

with  the  Marquis  of  Dazzara  for  his  delay  in  taking 
prompt  and  energetic  measures,  had  next  day  af- 
firmed his  august  dissatisfaction.  The  marquis  was 
shown  that  there  were  moments  when  the  emperor 
was  not  to  be  trifled  with;  the  emperor  dismissed 
him  personally,  on  the  spot,  and  told  him  he  could 
go.  Crushed,  his  eyes  full  of  despair,  the  marquis 
left  the  Imperial;  in  the  fore-court  his  carriage 
crossed  that  of  the  Duke  of  Mena-Doni,  lieutenant- 
general  of  the  hussars;  he  saw  the  duke's  sensual, 
Neronic  head,  covetous  with  ambition,  staring  up 
at  the  front  of  the  palace.  The  marquis  threw 
himself  back  in  his  carriage,  wringing  his  hands  and 
weeping  like  a  child.  .  .  . 

That  same  morning  martial  law  was  proclaimed 
at  Lipara  and  the  Duke  of  Mena-Doni  appointed 
governor  of  the  capital.  With  a  great  military 
display  and  a  speech  of  three  words  the  emperor 
dissolved  the  house  of  deputies.  The  people  trem- 
bled, beaten  off,  thrashed,  reduced  to  crouching  at 
the  imperial  feet.  The  decree  was  issued  for  the 
general  election.  Must  the  people  be  chastised  to 
make  them  attached  to  their  emperor?  Was  it 
because  of  the  innumerable  articles  in  the  news- 
papers of  the  northern  provinces  —  Altara,  Vaza 
and  Lycilia  —  which  bestowed  all  their  sympathy 
upon  their  most  charming,  charitable  crown-prince, 
indefatigable,  omnipresent,  mitigating  what  suffer- 
ing he  could?  Was  it  because  of  the  colossal,  fabu- 
lous presents  of  millions  contributed  from  the  im- 
perial privy  purse  to  the  fund  for  the  victims  of  the 
disaster?  The  result  of  the  elections  became 
known :  the  new  house  of  deputies  contained  a  bare, 


MAJESTY  117 

impotent  majority  of  constitutionals.  What  did  it 
profit  that  the  liberal  papers  shrieked  of  intrigue 
and  undue  pressure?  Without  and  within  the  city 
lay  the  army;  each  day  the  emperor  showed  himself, 
with  by  his  side  the  Duke  of  Mena-Doni.  .  .  . 

The  emperor  invited  the  old  ministry  to  remain 
in  office,  but  dismissed  those  of  the  ministers  who 
were  not  absolutely  authoritative. 

The  crisis  was  at  an  end.  The  great  spring 
manoeuvres  were  to  take  place  on  the  parade-ground 
so  soon  as  the  King  and  Queen  of  Syria  arrived  at 
Lipara. 

In  Othomar  there  sprang  up  a  vast  admiration 
for  his  father.  He  did  not  love  him  with  the 
fondness,  the  intimacy,  the  still  almost  childish  de- 
pendence with  which  he  loved  the  empress;  he  had 
always  looked  up  to  him;  as  a  child  he  had  been 
afraid  of  him.  Now,  after  the  personal  courage 
which  he  had  seen  the  emperor  display,  the  sovereign 
power  which  he  had  watched  him  exercise,  his 
majesty  rose  higher  before  Othomar's  eyes,  as  it 
were  the  statue  of  a  demi-god.  He  felt  himself  a 
lowly  mortal  beside  him,  when  he  thought: 

"  What  should  /  have  done,  if  I  had  had  to  act 
in  this  case?  Should  I  have  dared  to  take  the 
prompt  decision  to  dissolve  the  house  of  deputies 
and  should  I  not  have  feared  an  immediate  revolu- 
tion in  every  corner  of  the  country?  Should  I,  after 
the  disturbances,  have  dared  to  dismiss  the  Marquis 
of  Dazzara  at  once,  like  a  lackey,  attached  as  he 
was  to  our  house  and  descended  from  our  most 
glorious  nobility?  Should  I  have  dared  to  summon 
that  duke,  that  swashbuckler,  with  his  cruel  face, 


n8  MAJESTY 

even  before  I  had  dismissed  the  marquis,  so  that  the 
one  arrived  as  the  other  departed?  " 

And  he  already  saw  himself  hesitating  in  imagi- 
nation, not  knowing  what  would  be  best,  above  all 
not  knowing  what  would  be  most  just;  he  pictured 
himself  advised  by  old  Count  Myxila,  at  last  de- 
termined to  dissolve  the  deputies,  but  not  dismissing 
the  marquis,  not  declaring  martial  law  in  Lipara 
and  assembling  the  troops  too  late  and  seeing  the 
revolution  burst  out  at  all  points  simultaneously, 
with  bomb  upon  bomb.  .  .  . 

To  do  what  was  most  just,  this  seemed  to  him 
the  most  difficult  thing  for  a  sovereign. 

But  the  emperor's  monarchic  triumph  had  this 
result,  that,  clearly  as  Othomar  saw  his  own  weak- 
ness, a  reflex  of  strength  and  determination  was 
cast  upon  him  from  his  father  himself,  by  whose 
side  he  stood.  Moreover,  he  had  not  much  time 
for  brooding.  Each  day  brought  its  special  duties. 
Scarcely  was  he  able  to  allow  himself  one  hour  of 
solitary  repose.  He  was  accustomed  to  this  life 
of  constant  movement,  of  constant  public  appear- 
ances, now  here,  now  there,  so  thoroughly  accus- 
tomed to  it  that  he  did  not  feel  the  fatigue  which 
was  already  exhausting  him  before  his  tour  in  the 
north  and  which  had  now  eaten  into  his  nerves  and 
marrow.  He  gave  this  fatigue  no  thought,  re- 
garded it  perhaps  as  an  organic  languor,  a  transi- 
tory symptom,  which  was  bound  to  pass.  And  each 
day  brought  its  own  fatigue.  Thus  he  had  grown 
accustomed  to  rise  early,  at  seven  every  morning; 
Lipara  then  still  lay  white  and  peaceful  in  its  rosy 
slumber  of  the  dawn;  he  rode  out  on  his  thorough- 


MAJESTY  119 

bred  Arab,  black  Emiro,  with  his  favourite  collie 
close  behind  him,  galloping  with  him,  its  pointed 
nose  poked  out,  its  shaggy  collar  sticking  up;  unac- 
companied by  equerries,  he  rode  through  the  park 
of  the  Imperial  to  the  Elizabeth  Parks,  in  the  after- 
noon the  resort  of  elegant  carriages  and  horsemen, 
but  in  the  morning  peaceful,  wide  and  deserted, 
with  barely  a  solitary  early  rider,  who  made  way 
respectfully  for  the  prince  and  took  his  hat  off  low. 
Then  he  rode  along  the  white  quays  with  their  villas 
and  palm-trees,  their  terraces  and  aloes;  and  the 
incomparable  harbour  lay  before  him,  always  grow- 
ing an  intenser  blue  beneath  the  pink  morning  light, 
which  became  cruder.  Higher  up,  the  docks,  the 
ships,  the  hum  of  industry  already  audible.  Slowly 
he  walked  his  horse  along  the  harbour;  in  the  porti- 
coes of  the  villas  he  sometimes  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  woman's  figure,  saw  her  eyes  following  him 
through  roses  and  clematis.  He  loved  this  ride 
because  of  the  soft,  fresh  air,  because  of  his  horse, 
his  dog,  because  of  his  solitude  with  these  two, 
because  of  the  long,  silent  quays,  the  wide,  silent 
sky,  the  distant  horizon  still  just  enveloped  in  latest 
morning  mist.  The  morning  breeze  blew  against 
his  forehead  under  his  uniform  cap;  thoughts  wand- 
ered at  random  through  his  brain.  Then  he  shook 
himself  free  from  this  voluptuousness,  rode  back  to 
the  town  and  went  to  the  Xaverius  Barracks,  occu- 
pied by  the  lancers;  to  the  Wenceslas  Barracks  oc- 
cupied by  the  grenadiers;  or  to  the  Berengar  Bar- 
racks, occupied  by  the  hussars.  Here  he  enquired, 
investigated,  inspected;  and  here  he  found  his  equer- 
ries, Dutri  and  Leoni;  he  rode  back  with  them  to 


120  MAJESTY 

the  palace,  and  repaired  to  his  father's  room.  This 
was  the  hour  when  Count  Myxila  came  to  the  em- 
peror and  when  affairs  of  state  were  discussed  with 
the  imperial  chancellor;  lately  the  crown-prince  had 
assisted  at  these  meetings.  Next  he  visited  the 
empress,  who  was  expecting  him:  it  was  generally 
a  most  delightful  moment,  this  which  they  spent 
confidentially  together  before  lunch,  a  moment  full 
of  charm  and  intimacy.  He  sat  close  by  her  on  a 
low  chair,  took  her  hand,  poured  out  to  her  the 
burdens  of  his  heart,  communicated  to  her  his  an- 
xiety about  the  future,  about  himself  when  later  he 
himself  would  wear  the  crown.  At  such  times  his 
eyes  peered  up  through  their  lashes,  with  their  dark 
melancholy;  his  voice  was  querulous  and  begged  for 
comfort.  And  she  encouraged  him:  she  told  him 
that  nothing  happened  but  what  had  to  happen;  that 
everything  was  inevitable  in  the  world's  great  chain 
of  events,  joined  link  by  link;  that  he  must  wait  for 
what  might  come,  but  at  the  same  time  do  his  duty; 
and  that  he  must  not  unnerve  himself  with  such 
endless  pondering,  which  led  to  nothing.  He  told 
her  how  he  feared  his  own  hesitation  and  how  he 
suspected  that  his  decisions  would  always  come  too 
late;  and  she,  gently  laughing,  replied  that,  if  he 
knew  his  own  faults  so  well,  he  should  train  himself 
to  make  his  mind.  He  questioned  her  about  justice 
—  the  one  thing  that  seemed  impossible  to  him  on 
earth  —  and  she  referred  him  to  his  own  feeling, 
as  a  human  soul.  But  yet,  intensely  sweet  as  these 
hours  were,  he  felt  that  he  remained  the  same  under 
their  interchange  of  words  and  that,  though  words 
had  been  exchanged,  nothing  was  changed  within 


MAJESTY  121 

him.  Wherefore  he  thought  himself  wicked  and 
was  afraid  that  he  did  not  love  his  mother  enough, 
with  enough  conviction.  Then  he  looked  at  her, 
saw  her  smiling,  divined  beneath  her  smile  the 
nervous  dread  which  would  never  again  relinquish 
its  grasp  of  her  and  felt  that  she  spoke  like  this 
only  for  his  sake,  to  cheer  him,  and  not  from  con- 
viction. And  his  thoughts  no  longer  wandered  dis- 
cursively about  him,  as  on  his  morning  ride  along 
the  quays:  they  fell  like  fine  mists  one  upon  the 
other  in  his  imagination  and  formed  his  melancholy. 

Lunch  was  taken  privately.  After  lunch  he  sat 
for  an  hour  to  Thera,  who  was  painting  his  portrait. 
In  the  afternoon  there  were  always  different  things 
to  do:  exhibitions,  charities,  institutions  of  all 
kinds  to  be  visited,  a  foundation-stone  to  be  laid,  a 
man-of-war  to  be  launched.  Every  minute  was 
filled;  and  each  day  filled  his  minutes  differently 
from  the  day  before.  Dinner  was  always  a  meal 
of  great  etiquette  and  splendour;  every  day  there 
were  numerous  guests:  diplomatists,  high  officials, 
officers.  It  lasted  long;  it  was  an  emperor's  daily 
ceremonial  banquet.  Then  in  the  evening  the  par- 
ties at  court,  or  at  the  houses  of  the  ambassadors 
or  dignitaries;  the  theatres  and  concerts.  The 
prince,  however,  never  stayed  late.  He  then  read 
or  worked  for  a  couple  of  hours  in  his  own  room; 
at  twelve  o'clock  he  went  to  bed. 

He  was  used  to  this  life  of  monotonous  variety, 
had  grown  up  in  it.  So  soon  as  he  returned  from 
Lycilia  to  Lipara  —  the  city  was  then  still  under 
martial  law  —  he  found  it  waiting  for  him  busier 
than  ever;  the  opening  of  parliament  had  followed 


122  MAJESTY 

close  upon  his  return.  The  emperor  was  pleased 
with  the  crown-prince's  conduct  in  the  north,  perhaps 
because  of  the  praise  which  the  northern  newspapers 
bestowed  upon  the  Duke  of  Xara  for  his  ready 
sympathy,  because  of  his  moment  of  popularity. 
He  wanted  to  let  his  son  take  more  and  more  part 
in  affairs  of  state  and  discussed  them  with  him  more 
frequently  either  alone  or  in  the  company  of  the 
imperial  chancellor.  But  the  stern  measures  of 
drastic  violence  which  the  Duke  of  Mena-Doni  had 
taken  —  he  himself  at  Lipara,  his  officers  at  Thra- 
cyna:  furious  charges  of  hussars  against  the  threat- 
ening crowds  —  these  revolted  Othomar;  he  had 
heard  of  them  with  anguish  and  despair,  though  he 
knew  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  achieved  by 
gentleness.  And  with  his  veneration  for  the  em- 
peror, as  for  a  demigod  of  will  and  force,  there  was 
mingled  a  certain  antipathy  and  grudge,  which  di- 
vided him  from  his  father  and  made  any  interchange 
of  thought  between  them  difficult. 

Now,  after  the  opening  of  parliament,  the  town, 
the  whole  country  had  quieted  down;  the  troops, 
however,  remained  on  the  parade-ground,  for  the 
approaching  manoeuvres.  The  arrival  of  the  King 
and  Queen  of  Syria  was  fixed.  Othomar's  days 
succeeded  one  another  as  before.  He  was  enter- 
tained at  banquets  by  the  officers  of  the'  throne- 
guards  and  of  the  other  regiments  to  which  he  be- 
longed. Yes,  this  was  his  hour  of  popularity.  It 
was  already  said  that  his  surname  one  day  would 
be  Othomar  the  Benevolent.  It  was  at  this  time 
that  he  laid  the  foundation-stone  of  a  great  alms- 
house,  to  whose  establishment  the  will  of  an  im- 


MAJESTY  123 

mensely  wealthy,  childless  duke  —  one  of  the  oldest 
Liparian  families,  which  had  become  extinct  —  had 
contributed  millions. 

Othomar's  gentleness  was  in  amiable  contrast  with 
Oscar's  justly  exerted  but  rough  force.  He  him- 
self, however,  was  inwardly  very  much  astonished 
at  this  talk  of  benevolence:  he  liked  to  do  good, 
but  did  not  feel  the  love  of  doing  good  as  a  leading 
feature  in  his  character. 

After  the  dinner  given  to  him  by  the  staff-officers, 
Othomar  was  to  go  in  the  evening  with  Ducardi, 
Dutri  and  Leoni  to  the  Duke  of  Yemena,  to  thank 
the  court  marshal  officially  for  the  hospitality  shown 
him  at  Castel  Vaza.  The  duke  occupied  at  Lipara 
a  large,  new  house;  his  old  family-residence  was  at 
Altara. 

It  is  nine  o'clock;  the  crown-prince  is  not  yet 
expected.  The  duke  and  duchess,  however,  are  al- 
ready receiving  their  guests;  the  duchess  sent  out 
numerous  invitations  when  Othomar  announced  his 
visit.  The  spacious  reception-rooms  fill  up:  almost 
the  whole  of  the  diplomatic  corps  is  present,  as  are 
some  of  the  ministers  and  great  court-officials  with 
their  wives,  old  Countess  Myxila  and  her  daughters 
and  a  number  of  officers.  They  form  the  intimate 
circle  of  the  Imperial.  A  jaunty  familiarity  prevails 
among  them,  with  the  sans-gene  in  vogue. 

Near  the  duchess  stands  Lady  Danbury,  the  wife 
of  the  British  first  secretary,  and  the  Marquis  of 
Xardi,  the  duke's  son.  They  are  talking  busily 
about  the  Dazzaras: 

"  I've  seen  them,"  says  Lady  Danbury.     "  It's 


i24  MAJESTY 

shocking,  shocking.  They're  living  at  Castel  Daz- 
zara,  that  old  ruin  in  Thracyna,  with  their  five 
daughters,  poor  things!  The  ceilings  are  falling 
in.  Three  crooked  old  men  in  livery;  and  the 
liveries  even  older  than  the  servants.  And  debts, 
according  to  what  I  hear,  debts!  I  was  astonished 
to  see  how  old  the  marchioness  had  grown;  she  has 
taken  it  terribly  to  heart,  it  seems." 

"  Grown  old?  "  asks  the  duchess.  "  I  thought 
she  looked  quite  young  still,  last  time  I  saw  her.  .  .  ." 

She  detests  Lady  Danbury,  who  is  tall,  thin  and 
sharp-featured,  her  appearance  rather  suggesting 
that  of  a  graceful  adder.  And  she  continues : 

"  She  still  looked  so  well ;  she  is  slender,  but  she 
has  a  splendid  neck  and  shoulders.  ...  I  really 
cannot  understand  how  she  can  have  grown  so 
old.  .  .  ." 

And,  as  though  brooding  over  this  puzzle,  the 
duchess  stares  at  the  lean  shoulders  of  Lady  Dan- 
bury. 

Xardi's  eyes  glitter;  he  expects  a  skirmish. 

"  They  say  that  the  marquis  used  to  be  one  of 
your  intimates,  don't  they?"  the  Englishwoman  in- 
sinuates. 

But  that  hateful  "  used  to  be  "  grates  on  Xardi's 


nerves. 
it 


I  am  very  fond  of  the  Dazzaras,"  says  the 
duchess;  "but" — and  she  laughs  mysteriously  and 
meaningly  — "  he  was  always  an  unlucky  bird.  .  .  ." 

"  His  excellency  the  Duke  of  Mena-Doni,"  the 
butler  announces. 

"  The  rising  sun!  "  Xardi  whispers  to  Lady  Dan- 
bury. 


MAJESTY  125 

Mena-Doni  bows  before  the  duchess,  who  smiles 
upon  him.  Lady  Danbury,  standing  by  Xardi's 
side,  continues: 

"And  the  lucky  bird?" 

"  Oh  no !  "  says  Xardi,  with  decision.  "  At  least, 
not  altogether.  .  .  ." 

They  look  at  each  other  and  laugh: 

"  Imperial  eagles  are  the  finest  birds,  after  all, 
don't  you  think?  "  says  Lady  Danbury,  jestingly. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it?  " 

"Alas,  I  am  too  unimportant  to  know  anything! 
Before  I  get  so  far  in  my  zoological  studies  .  .  ." 

"  But  what  have  you  heard?  " 

"  What  everybody  hears  when  Dutri  can't  hold 
his  tongue." 

"What  about?" 

"  About  a  certain  tender  parting  at  Castel 
Vaza.  .  .  ." 

The  Marquis  of  Xardi  bursts  out  laughing.  Lady 
Danbury  suddenly  clutches  his  arm: 

"  I  say,  Xardi,  I  know  less  slender  people  than 
the  Marchioness  of  Dazzara  who  would  fall  into 
a  decline  if  they  lost  the  imperial  favour.  Et  tot?  " 

The  marquis  laughs  loudly  and: 

"  Even  the  crown-princely  favour,"  he  whispers, 
behind  Lady  Danbury's  Watteau  fan. 

And  they  chuckle  with  laughter  together. 

"  His  imperial  highness  the  Duke  of  Xara;  their 
excellencies  Count  Ducardi,  Prince  Dutri  and  the 
Marquis  of  Leoni !  "  are  announced,  slowly  and  im- 
pressively. 

There  is  a  slight  movement  in  the  groups.  The 
room  divides  into  two  rows;  a  couple  of  ladies  get 


126  MAJESTY 

entangled  in  their  trains  and  laugh.     Then  they  all 
wait. 

Othomar  appears  at  the  open  door;  Ducardi, 
Dutri  and  Leoni  are  behind  him.  The  old  duke 
hastens  towards  the  prince;  the  Marquis  of  Xardi 
hurriedly  thrusts  Lady  Danbury's  fan  into  her  hand 
and  joins  his  father. 

The  old  duke  is  a  well-knit,  elegant  man,  full  of 
racial  refinement,  with  a  clean-shaven  face;  he  is 
dressed  simply  in  evening-clothes,  with  the  broad 
green  riband  of  a  commander  of  the  Imperial  Orb 
slanting  across  his  breast  and  the  grand  cross  of 
St.  Ladislas  round  his  neck. 

Othomar  wears  his  full-dress  uniform  as  colonel 
of  the  Xara  Cuirassiers,  silver,  red  and  white;  he 
holds  his  plumed  helmet  under  his  arm;  he  presses 
the  duke's  hand,  he  addresses  him  with  genial 
words;  but,  in  the  ingenuousness  of  his  youthful 
soul,  he  feels  bitter  remorse  gnawing  at  his  con- 
science now  that  he  speaks  of  Castel  Vaza,  now 
that  he  listens  to  the  cordial  protestations  of  the 
duke.  Othomar  also  shakes  hands  with  the  Mar- 
quis of  Xardi. 

Then  the  duchess  approaches  and  greets  the 
crown-prince  with  her  famous  curtsey.  Lady  Dan- 
bury  envies  her  her  grace  and  asks  herself  how  it 
is  possible,  with  those  statuesque  lines;  she  cannot 
deny  that  the  Duchess  of  Yemena  is  a  splendid 
woman.  .  .  .  Between  the  duke  and  the  duchess, 
the  prince  walks  down  the  row  of  bowing  guests; 
the  Marquis  of  Xardi  follows  with  the  equerries. 

Othomar  has  seen  the  duchess  once  or  twice  at 
the  Imperial  since  his  return  to  Lipara,  but  never 


MAJESTY  127 

alone.  They  now  exchange  courteous  phrases,  with 
official  voices  and  intonations.  The  groups  form 
once  more,  as  at  an  intimate  rout. 

The  duchess  walks  on  with  Othomar,  till  they 
reach  the  long  conservatory,  dimly  lighted,  dusky- 
green,  with  the  stately  palm-foliage  of  the  tall 
plants,  with  the  delicate  tracery  of  the  bamboos, 
which  exude  beads  of  dew  against  the  square  panes. 
They  are  silent  for  a  moment,  looking  at  each  other ; 
and  Othomar  feels  that  his  emotions  for  this  woman 
are  nothing  more  than  fleeting  moments,  cloudlets 
in  his  soul.  The  unknown  has  opened  out  to  him, 
but  has  turned  to  disillusion.  Nevertheless  he  is 
thankful  to  her  for  what  she  gave  him :  the  consola- 
tion of  her  passion,  while  his  eyes  were  still  moist 
with  tears.  She  strengthened  him  by  this  consola- 
tion and  made  him  discover  his  manhood.  But 
everything  in  life  is  twofold;  and  his  gratitude  has 
a  reverse  of  sin.  He  sees  the  duke  in  the  distance 
holding  an  animated  conversation,  underlined  with 
elegant,  precise  gestures,  with  Ducardi;  and  remorse 
softly  pierces  his  boyish  soul. 

And  next  to  his  gratitude  he  feels  his  disillusion. 
Love!  Is  this  love?  .  .  .  He  feels  nothing;  no- 
thing new  has  come  into  his  heart.  He  sees  how 
deliciously  beautiful  the  duchess  is  in  her  ivory  bro- 
cade, her  train  edged  with  dark  fur,  her  bodice  cut 
square,  a  string  of  pearls  round  her  neck.  The 
half-light  drifts  past  her  through  the  plants,  a 
faery  green,  with  a  gentle  slumbering  and  with 
shadows  full  of  mystery;  her  face,  with  its  delicate 
smile,  stands  out  against  the  background  of  blurred 
darkness.  He  recalls  her  kiss  and  the  mad  embrace 


128  MAJESTY 

of  her  arms.  Yes,  it  was  a  blissful  enervation,  an 
intoxication  of  the  flesh,  an  unknown  giddiness,  a 
physical  comfort.  But  love:  was  it  love?  .  .  . 
And  he  has  to  make  up  his  mind :  perhaps  it  is  love ; 
and,  though  he  feels  something  lacking  in  his  soul, 
he  makes  up  his  mind  for  all  that:  yes,  perhaps  that 
is  what  it  is  ...  love. 

"And  when  shall  I  see  your  highness  again?" 
she  whispers. 

The  question  is  put  crudely  and  surprises  him. 
But  this  single  second  of  momentary  solitude  is  so 
precious  to  the  duchess  that  she  cannot  do  other- 
wise. She  observes  his  surprise  and  adores  him 
for  his  innocence ;  and  her  eyes  gaze  so  beseechingly 
that  he  replies : 

'  To-morrow  I  am  dining  with  the  French  am- 
bassador; after  that  I  am  going  to  the  opera.  .  .  . 
Can  I  find  you  here  at  eleven  o'clock?  " 

He  is  surprised  at  the  logical  sequence  of  his 
thoughts,  at  his  question,  which  sounds  so  strangely 
in  his  ears.  But  she  answers,  laughing  discon- 
certedly : 

"  For  God's  sake,  highness,  not  here,  at  eleven 
o'clock!  How  could  we!  ...  But  .  .  .  come  to 
.  .  .  Dutri's.  .  .  ." 

She  stammers;  she  remembers  the  equerry's  lux- 
urious flat  and  sees  herself  there  again  .  .  .  with 
others.  And  in  her  confusion  she  does  not  perceive 
that  she  has  wounded  him  deeply  and  torn  his 
sensitiveness  as  though  with  sharp  claws;  she  fails 
all  the  more  to  perceive  this,  because  he  answers, 
confusedly : 

"  Very  well.  .  .  ." 


MAJESTY  129 

They  return,  laughing,  with  their  official,  colour- 
less voices;  they  walk  slowly:  he,  so  young  in  his 
silver  uniform,  with  the  helmet,  with  its  drooping 
plume,  under  the  natural  grace  of  his  rounded  arm; 
she,  with  her  expansive  brilliancy,  trailing  her  ivory 
train,  waving  her  fan  of  feathers  and  diamonds  to 
and  fro  against  her  Carrara-marble  bosom.  All 
eyes  are  turned  in  their  direction  and  observe  the 
duchess'  triumph.  .  .  . 

And  Othomar  now  knows  that  his  "  love  "  will 
become  what  is  called  a  liaison,  such  as  he  has 
heard  of  in  connection  with  this  one  and  that, 
or  read  of  in  novels.  He  had  not  yet  imagined  such 
an  arrangement.  He  does  not  know  how  he  is  to 
tell  Dutri  that  he  has  made  an  assignation  with  the 
duchess  in  his  rooms;  and,  when  he  thinks  of  the 
equerry,  something  of  his  innate  sovereignty  is 
chipped  off  as  little  pieces  of  marble  or  alabaster 
might  be  from  a  frail  column.  .  .  . 

Joining  the  duke  and  the  general,  he  talks  of 
the  approaching  manoeuvres.  He  now  sees  the 
duchess  standing  at  a  distance  and  Mena-Doni  bend- 
ing his  Neronic  head  close  to  her  face.  His  great 
antipathy  for  this  man  is  mingled  with  jealousy. 
And,  while  he  smiles  and  listens  to  the  Duke  of 
Yemena,  he  feels  that  he  now  knows  for  certain 
that  his  love  after  all  is  love,  because  jealousy  plays 
a  part  in  it. 


Next  morning,  when  Othomar  rode  out  alone,  he 
was  thinking  the  whole  time  of  Dutri.     The  diffi- 


i3o  MAJESTY 

culty  of  broaching  the  subject  to  his  equerry  struck 
him  as  unsurmountable.  His  heart  beat  when  he 
met  Dutri  waiting  for  him  in  the  Xaverius  Barracks. 
But  the  young  officer  had  the  tact  to  whisper  to 
him,  very  calmly  and  courteously,  as  though  it  were 
the  simplest  matter  in  the  world: 

"  I  was  talking  with  the  Duchess  of  Yemena, 
highness.  .  .  .  Her  excellency  told  me  that  your 
highness  wished  to  speak  to  her  in  private  and  did 
me  the  honour  .  .  .  Will  your  highness  take  this 
key?  .  .  ." 

Othomar  mechanically  accepted  the  key.  His 
face  remained  rigid  and  serious,  but  inwardly  he  felt 
much  annoyed  with  the  duchess  and  did  not  under- 
stand how  and  why  she  could  drag  Dutri  into  their 
secret.  The  ease  and  simplicity  with  which  she  had 
evidently  done  so  flashed  across  him  as  something 
alarming.  A  confusion  seemed  to  whirl  through 
his  head,  as  though  the  duchess  and  Dutri  had,  with 
one  breath,  blasted  all  sorts  of  firm  convictions  of 
his  youth.  He  thought  of  the  old  duke.  He  con- 
sidered all  this  wrong.  He  knew  that  Dutri  was  a 
young  profligate;  he  was  in  the  habit  of  hearing 
the  whole  gazette  of  court  scandal  from  him,  but 
he  had  never  believed  one-half  of  what  Dutri  re- 
lated and  had  often  told  the  equerry  bluntly  that 
he  did  not  like  to  hear  ill  spoken  of  people  whom 
they  saw  daily,  people  attached  to  his  house.  Now 
it  seemed  to  him  that  everything  that  Dutri  had  said 
might  be  true  and  that  yet  worse  things  might  well 
take  place.  This  key,  offered  with  such  simple  po- 
liteness, with  such  libertine  ease,  appeared  to  him 
as  an  object  of  searing  dishonour.  He  was  already 


MAJESTY  131 

ashamed  of  having  put  the  thing  in  his  pocket.  .  .  . 

He  went  on,  however.  The  key  burnt  him 
while  he  spoke  with  General  Ducardi  and,  on  his 
return  to  the  Imperial,  with  his  father  and  Myxila. 
Before  going  to  visit  the  empress,  who  was  awaiting 
him,  he  locked  it  away  in  his  writing-table;  then 
slowly,  his  forehead  overshadowed,  step  by  step  he 
went  through  the  long  galleries  to  the  empress' 
apartments.  In  the  anteroom  the  lady-in-waiting 
rose,  curtseyed,  knocked  at  the  door  and  opened  it: 

"  His  highness  the  Duke  of  Xara.  .  .  ." 

Othomar  silently  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross,  as 
though  he  were  entering  a  church : 

"  May  God  and  His  Mother  forgive  me !  "  he 
murmured  between  his  lips. 

Then  he  entered  the  empress'  room. 

She  was  sitting  alone  in  the  large  drawing-room, 
at  one  of  the  open  windows  overlooking  the  park. 
She  wore  a  very  simple,  smooth,  dark  dress.  It 
struck  him  how  young  she  looked;  and  he  reflected 
that  she  was  younger  than  the  duchess.  An  aureole 
of  delicate  purity  seemed  to  quiver  around  her  tall, 
slender  form  like  an  atmosphere  of  light  and  gave 
her  a  distinction  which  other  women  did  not  possess. 
She  smiled  to  him;  and  he  came  up  slowly  and 
kissed  her  hand. 

She  had  not  yet  seen  him  that  day;  she  took  his 
head  between  her  cool,  slim  hands  and  kissed  him. 

He  sat  down  on  a  low  chair  by  her  side.  Then 
she  passed  her  hand  over  his  forehead: 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

He  looked  at  her  and  said  there  was  nothing 
particular.  She  suspected  nothing  further;  this 


i32  MAJESTY 

was  not  the  first  time  he  brought  her  a  clouded 
forehead.  She  stroked  it  once  more: 

"  I  promised  papa  to  have  a  serious  talk  with 
you,"  she  said. 

He  looked  up  at  her, 

"  He  thought  it  better  that  I  should  talk  to  you, 
because  it  was  his  idea  that  I  could  do  so  more 
easily.  For  the  rest,  he  is  very  pleased  with  yon, 
my  boy,  and  rejoices  to  find  that  you  have  such 
a  clear  judgement,  sometimes,  upon  various  po- 
litical questions." 

This  opinion  of  his  father's  surprised  him. 

"  And  about  what  did  you  promise  to  talk  to 
me?" 

"  About  something  very,  very  important,"  she 
said,  with  a  gentle  smile.  "  About  your  marriage, 
Othomar." 

"  My  marriage?  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  my  boy.  .  .  .  You  will  soon  be  twenty- 
two.  Papa  married  much  later  in  life,  but  he  had 
many  brothers.  They  are  dead.  Uncle  Xaverius 
is  in  his  monastery.  And  we  —  papa  and  I  —  are 
not  ever  likely  to  have  any  more  children,  Otho- 


mar." 


She  put  her  arms  about  him  and  drew  him  to 
her.  She  whispered: 

"  We  have  no  one  but  you,  my  boy,  and  our  little 
Berengar.  And  .  .  .  papa  therefore  thinks  that 
you  ought  to  marry.  We  want  an  hereditary 
prince,  a  Count  of  Lycilia.  .  .  ." 

His  eyes  became  moist;  he  laid  his  head  against 
her: 

"Two    to    become    emperor?     Berengar,    if    I 


MAJESTY  133 

should  be  gone  before  him:  is  not  that   enough, 
mamma?  " 

She  smilingly  shook  her  head  in  denial.  No, 
that  was  not  certainty  enough  for  the  house  of 
Czyrkiski-Xanantria. 

"  Mamma,"  he  said,  gently,  "  when  sociologists 
speak  of  the  social  question,  they  deplore  that  so 
many  children  are  born  among  the  proletariate  and 
they  even  hold  the  poor  parents,  who  have  nothing 
else  but  their  love,  responsible  for  the  greater  social 
misery  which  they  cause  through  those  children. 
Does  not  this  reproach  really  affect  us  also?  Or 
do  you  think  an  emperor  so  happy?  " 

Her  brow  became  overcast. 

"  You  are  in  one  of  your  gloomy  moods,  Otho- 
mar.  For  God's  sake,  my  boy,  do  not  give  way 
to  them.  Do  not  philosophize  so  much;  accept  life 
as  it  has  been  given  to  you.  That  is  the  only  way 
in  which  to  bear  it.  Do  not  reflect  whether  you 
will  be  happy,  when  you  are  emperor,  but  accept 
the  fact  that  you  must  become  emperor  in  your 
turn." 

"Very  well,  for  myself:  but  why  children, 
mamma?  " 

'  What  sovereign  allows  his  house  to  die  out, 
Othomar?  Do  not  be  foolish.  Cling  to  tradition: 
that  is  all  in  all  to  us.  Don't  have  such  strange 
ideas  upon  this  question.  They  are  not  those  of  a 
future  —  I  had  almost  said  —  autocrat;  they  are 
not  those  of  a  monarch.  You  understand,  Otho- 
mar, do  you  not?  You  must,  you  must  marry.  .  .  ." 

Her  voice  sounded  more  decided  than  usual, 
sounded  almost  hard. 


i34  MAJESTY 

"  And,  dearest  boy,"  she  continued,  "  thank  the 
circumstances  and  marry  now,  as  quickly  as  possible. 
Our  relations  with  foreign  countries  are  at  this 
moment  such  that  there  are  no  particular  indications 
as  to  whom  you  ought  to  marry.  You  can  more 
or  less  pick  and  choose.  For  you  are  the  crown- 
prince  of  a  great  empire,  my  boy,  of  one  of  the 
greatest  empires  in  Europe.  ..  .  ." 

He  tried  to  speak;  she  continued,  hurriedly: 

"  I  repeat,  you  can  —  very  nearly  —  choose. 
You  don't  know  how  much  that  means.  Appreciate 
this,  appreciate  the  circumstances.  Travel  to  all 
the  courts  of  Europe  that  are  worth  considering. 
Use  your  eyes,  make  your  choice.  There  are  pretty 
princesses  in  England,  in  Austria.  .  .  ." 

Othomar  closed  his  eyes  an  instant,  as  though 
exhausted  with  weariness: 

"  Later  on,  mamma,"  he  whispered. 

"  No,  my  boy,"  said  the  empress,  "  do  not  speak 
of  later  on,  do  not  put  off.  Think  it  over.  Think 
how  you  will  order  your  journey  and  whom  you  will 
take  with  you  and  then  talk  it  over  with  papa  and 
Myxila.  Will  you  promise?  " 

He  just  pressed  his  head  against  her  and  pro- 
mised, with  a  weary  smile. 

"  But  what's  the  matter  with  you,  my  boy?"  she 
asked.  "What  is  it?" 

His  eyes  grew  moist. 

"  I  don't  know,  mamma.  I  am  so  tired  some- 
times. .  .  ." 

"Aren't  you  well?" 

"  Yes,  I'm  all  right,  but  I  am  so  tired.  .  .  ." 

"But  why,  my  child?" 


MAJESTY  135 

He  began  to  sob  softly: 

"  Tired  ...  of  everything  .  .  .  mamma." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  long  time,  shook  her 
head  slowly,  disapprovingly. 

"  Forgive  me,  mamma,"  he  stammered,  wiping 
his  eyes.  "  I  sha'n't  give  way  like  this  again.  .  .  ." 

"  You  promised  me  that  once  before,  Othomar 
dear." 

He  leant  his  head  against  her  once  more,  like  a 
child: 

"  No,  really,"  he  declared,  caressingly,  u  I  really 
will  resist  it.  It  is  not  right  of  me,  mamma.  I  will 
employ  myself  more,  I  shall  grow  stronger.  .  I 
swear  to  you  I  shall  grow  stronger  for  your 
sake.  .  .  ." 

She  again  looked  long  in  his  eyes,  with  her  pure 
smile.  Utter  tenderness  went  out  from  her  to  him; 
he  felt  that  he  would  never  love  any  one  so  much 
as  his  mother.  Then  she  took  him  in  her  arms  and 
pressed  him  close  against  her: 

"  I  accept  your  promise  and  I  thank  you  .  .  .  my 
poor  boy!  "  she  whispered  through  her  kiss. 

At  this  moment  there  came  a  buzz  of  young 
voices,  as  though  from  birds  set  free,  out  of  the 
park,  through  the  open  windows.  The  tripping  of 
many  little  feet  grated  on  the  gravel.  A  high, 
shrill,  childish  voice  suddenly  rang  with  furious 
words  from  among  the  others;  the  others  were 
silent.  .  .  . 

The  empress  started  with  a  shock  that  was 
electric.  She  drew  herself  up  hastily,  deadly  pale: 

"  Berengar!  "  she  cried;  and  her  voice  died  away. 

"  And  I  shall  tell  his  majesty  what  a  scoundrel 


136  MAJESTY 

you  are  and  then  we'll  see!  Then  we'll  see,  then 
we'll  see !  .  .  ." 

The  empress  trembled  as  she  leant  out  of  the 
window.  She  saw  ten  or  eleven  little  boys;  they 
looked  perplexed. 

;<  Where  is  his  highness?  "  she  asked. 

"  His  highness  is  over  there,  ma'am!  "  shyly  an- 
swered a  little  count,  pointing  to  the  back-court, 
which  the  empress  could  not  see. 

"  But  what  is  happening?  What  a  noise  to 
make!  Send  his  highness  here  at  once!  Beren- 
gar!  Berengar!" 

His  highness,  Berengar,  was  called  and  came. 
He  passed  through  the  little  dukes  and  counts  and 
looked  up  at  the  window  through  which  his  mother 
was  leaning.  He  was  a  small,  sturdily  built,  vi- 
gorous little  chap;  his  face  was  crimson  with  in- 
dignation, his  two  small,  furious  eyes  were  like  two 
black  sparks. 

"  Berengar,  come  here !  "  cried  the  empress. 
"What  is  all  this?  Why  can't  you  play  without 
quarrelling?  " 

"  I'm  not  quarrelling,  mamma,  but  .  .  .  but  I 
shall  tell  papa  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  and  then  we'll  see! 
Then  we'll  .  .  ." 

"  Berengar,  come  in  here  at  once,  through  the 
palace,  at  once !  "  commanded  the  empress. 

Othomar  looked  out  from  behind  the  empress 
at  the  group  of  boys.  He  saw  Berengar  speak  a 
word  of  apology  to  the  biggest  little  duke  and  dis- 
appear through  the  back-court. 

A  minute  later,  the  boy  entered  the  room. 

"  Berengar,"   said  the  empress,   "  it's  very  bad 


MAJESTY  137 

manners  to  make  such  a  noise  in  the  park  .  .  .  and 
just  behind  the  palace  too." 

The  boy  looked  at  her  with  his  serious  little 
crimson  face: 

'  Yes,  mamma,"  he  assented,  gently. 

"What  happened?" 

Berengar's  lips  began  to  tremble. 

"  It  was  that  beastly  sentry  .  .  ."  he  began. 

"  What  about  the  sentry?  " 

"  He  ...  he  didn't  present  arms  to  me !  " 

"  Didn't  the  sentry  present  arms  to  you?  Why 
not?" 

"  I  don't  know !  "  cried  Berengar,  indignantly. 

"  But  surely  he  always  does?  " 
'  Yes,  but  this  time  he  did  not.     He  did  the  first 
time  when  we  passed,  but  not  the  second  time.  .  .  . 
We  were  playing  touch  and,  when  we  ran  past  him 
the  second  time,  he  didn't  present  arms !  " 

Othomar  began  to  scream  with  laughter. 

"  There's  nothing  to  laugh  at !  "  cried  Berengar, 
angrily.  "  And  I  shall  tell  papa  and  then  you  shall 
see." 

"  But,  Berengar,"  said  the  Empress,  "  did  you 
expect  the  man  to  present  arms  to  you  every 
time  you  ran  past  him  while  you  were  playing 
touch?" 

Berengar  reflected : 

"  He  might  at  least  have  done  it  the  second  time. 
If  it  had  been  three,  or  four,  or  five  times,  I  could 
have  understood  .  .  .  But  only  the  second  time! 
.  .  .  What  can  the  boys  have  thought  of  me?  " 

"  Listen,  Berengar,"  said  the  empress,  "  what- 
ever happens,  it  is  not  at  all  proper  for  you  to  call 


i38  MAJESTY 

people  names,  whoever  they  may  be,  nor  to  make 
such  a  noise  in  the  park,  right  behind  the  palace. 
An  emperor's  son  never  calls  names,  not  even  to  a 
sentry.  So  now  you  must  go  straight  to  that  sentry 
and  tell  him  you  are  sorry  you  lost  your  temper  so." 

"  Mamma !  "  cried  the  child,  in  consternation. 

The  empress'  face  was  inflexible : 

"  I  insist,  Berengar." 

The  boy  looked  at  her  with  the  greatest  astonish- 
ment: 

"  But  am  I  to  say  that  ...  to  the  sentry, 
mamma?  " 

"  Yes." 

Evidently  Berengar  at  this  moment  failed  to 
understand  the  order  of  the  universe;  he  suspected 
for  an  instant  that  the  revolution  had  broken  out : 

"  But,  mamma,  I  can't  do  that!  " 

"  You  must,  Berengar,  and  at  once." 

"  But,  mamma,  will  papa  approve  of  it?" 

"  Certainly,  Berengar,"  said  Othomar.  "  What- 
ever mamma  tells  you  to  do  papa  of  course  ap- 
proves of." 

The  boy  looked  up  at  Othomar  helplessly;  his 
little  face  grew  long,  his  sturdy  little  fists  quivered. 
Then  he  burst  into  a  fit  of  desperate  sobbing. 

"  Come,  Berengar,  go,"  the  empress  repeated. 

The  child  was  still  more  dismayed  by  her  severity: 
that  was  how  he  always  saw  her  stare  at  the  crowd, 
but  not  at  her  children.  And  he  threw  himself  with 
the  small  width  of  his  helpless  little  arms  into  her 
skirts,  embraced  her  and  sobbed,  with  great,  gulping 
sobs: 

"  I  can't  do  it,  mamma,  I  can't  do  it !  " 


MAJESTY  139 

"  You  must,  Berengar.  .  .  ." 

"  And  ...  and  ...  and  I  sha'ttt,  I  shan't! " 
the  boy  screamed,  in  a  sudden  fury,  stamping  his 
foot. 

The  empress  did  nothing  but  look  at  him,  very 
long,  very  long.  Her  reproachful  glance  crushed 
the  boy.  He  sobbed  aloud  and  .seemed  to  forget 
that  his  little  friends  outside  would  be  sure  to  hear 
his  highness  sobbing.  He  saw  that  there  was  no- 
thing to  be  done,  that  he  must  do  it.  He  must! 
His  imperial  highness  Berengar  Marquis  of  Thra- 
cyna,  knight  of  St.  Ladislas,  must  say  he  was  sorry 
to  a  sentry  and  one  moreover  who  denied  him,  his 
highness,  his  rights. 

His  medieval  little  childish  soul  was  all  upset  by 
it.  He  understood  nothing  more.  He  only  saw 
that  he  must  do  as  he  was  told,  because  his  mother 
looked  at  him  with  such  a  sad  expression : 

"  Othomar !  "  he  sobbed,  in  his  despair.  "  Otho- 
mar!  Will  .  .  .  you  .  .  .  go  with  me  .  .  .  then? 
But  how  am  I  to  do  it,  how  am  I  to  do  it?  " 

Othomar  smiled  to  him  compassionately  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  him.  The  empress  nodded  to  the 
princes  to  go. 

u  How  am  I  to  do  it?  O  God,  how  am  I  to  do 
it?"  she  still  heard  Berengar's  voice  sobbing 
desperately  in  the  lobby. 

Elizabeth  had  turned  deadly  pale.  As  soon  as 
she  was  alone,  she  sank  into  a  chair,  with  her  head 
flung  back.  Helene  of  Thesbia  entered  at  this  mo- 
ment: 

"  Madam !  "  cried  the  young  countess.  "  What 
is  it?" 


1 40  MAJESTY 

The  empress  put  out  her  hand;  Helene  felt  that 
it  was  icy  cold. 

"Nothing,  Helene,"  she  replied.  "But  Beren- 
gar  frightened  me  so  terribly.  I  thought  ...  I 
thought  they  were  murdering  him !  " 

And  in  an  hysterical  fit  of  spasmodic  sobbing  she 
threw  herself  into  the  countess'  arms. 


That  night,  before  Othomar  left  with  his  equer- 
ries to  dine  at  the  French  ambassador's,  he  drew 
Dutri  aside: 

"  I  see,  prince,  that  her  excellency  the  duchess 
confides  in  you  fully,"  he  said,  in  curt  tones.  "  I 
do  not  doubt  that  her  confidence  is  well  placed. 
But  I  assure  you  of  this :  if  it  should  ever  appear  that 
it  was  misplaced,  I  shall  never  —  now  or  at  any  later 
period  —  forget  it.  .  .  ." 

Dutri  looked  up  strangely;  he  heard  his  future 
emperor  address  him.  Then  he  pouted  like  a  sulky 
child  and  said: 

"  I  cannot  say  that  your  highness  is  very  grateful 
for  the  hospitality  which  I  have  offered  you.  .  .  ." 

Othomar  smiled  painfully  and  gave  him  his 
hand.  .  .  . 

"  Or  that  it  is  kind  of  your  highness  to  threaten 
me  to-day  with  your  displeasure,"  Dutri  continued. 

"  I  know  you,  Dutri,"  the  prince  said  in  his  ear. 
"  I  know  your  tongue.  That's  my  only  reason  for 
warning  you.  .  .  .  And  now,  for  God's  sake,  say 
no  more  about  this,  for  it  ...  it  all  gives  me 
pain.  .  .  ." 


MAJESTY  141 

Dutri  was  silent,  thought  him  a  child  and  a  prince 
in  one.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  silently  at  Otho- 
mar's  incomparable  innocence,  but  he  shuddered 
when  he  thought  of  a  possible  disgrace.  He  had 
no  fortune;  his  position  with  the  crown-prince  was 
his  life,  his  ambition,  his  all,  for  now  and  for  later, 
when  the  prince  should  be  emperor !  .  .  .  How 
pleased  he  had  been  at  first  that  Alexa  had  told  him 
everything,  that  he  knew  a  secret  of  his  prince,  who 
never  seemed  to  have  any  secrets !  A  vague  plea- 
sure that  this  secret  would  give  him  a  power  over 
his  future  emperor  had  already  flitted  through  his 
head,  full  of  frivolous  calculations.  And  now  the 
prince  was  threatening  him  and  that  power  was 
frustrated  at  its  very  inception !  And  Dutri  was 
now  almost  sorry  that  he  had  learned  this  secret; 
he  even  feared  that  the  emperor  might  come  to 
hear  of  it,  that  he  would  be  visited  with  the  father's 
displeasure  even  before  the  son's.  .  .  . 

"  If  only  Alexa  had  not  dragged  me  into  it  I  " 
he  complained  to  himself,  with  his  shallow  fickleness 
of  thought. 

But,  although  Dutri  was  silent  and  even  contra- 
dicted the  rumour,  the  crown-prince's  liaison  was  dis- 
cussed, possibly  only  because  of  Alexa's  triumph- 
ant glances  whenever  Othomar  addressed  a  word 
to  her  at  a  reception,  at  a  ball.  Nevertheless, 
Dutri's  contradiction  introduced  a  certain  confusion 
—  for  he  was  known  as  a  ready  blabber  —  and 
people  did  not  know  what  to  think  or  what  to 
believe. 

But  Othomar  did  not  feel  happy  in  his  love. 
The  fierce  passion  of  this  woman  with  her  fiery 


i42  MAJESTY 

glances,  who  overpowered  him  one  moment  with  her 
kisses  and  the  next  crept  before  him  like  a  slave  and 
crouched  at  his  feet  in  humility  before  her  future 
sovereign,  at  first  astonished  him  and,  in  one  or  two 
of  his  fits  of  despair,  carried  him  away,  but  in  the 
long  run  aroused  in  him  a  feeling  of  disinclination 
and  opposition.  In  the  young  equerry's  scented  flat 
where  they  met  —  it  was  as  dainty  as  any  young 
girl's  sitting-room  and  padded  like  a  jewel-case  — 
he  sometimes  felt  a  wish  to  repulse  this  woman,  for 
all  that  she  loved  him  with  her  strange  soul  and  did 
not  feign  her  love;  he  felt  a  wish  to  kick  her,  to  beat 
her.  His  temperament  was  not  fit  for  so  animal  a 
passion.  She  seemed  to  harry  his  nerves.  She  re- 
volted him  at  times.  And  yet  .  .  .  one  single  word 
from  him  and  she  mastered  her  fierceness,  sank  down 
humbly  by  his  side,  softly  stroked  his  hand,  his 
head;  and  he  could  not  doubt  that  she  adored  him, 
perhaps  a  little  because  he  was  the  crown-prince,  but 
also  greatly  for  himself. 

And  so  April  came;  already  it  was  almost  sum- 
mer; the  King  and  Queen  of  Syria  were  expected. 
They  had  been  first  to  the  sultan  and  afterwards  to 
the  court  of  Athens.  From  Liparia  they  were  to 
go  on  to  the  northern  states  of  Europe.  On  the 
day  of  their  arrival,  Lipara  fluttered  with  flags; 
the  southern  sun,  already  potent,  rained  down  gold 
upon  the  white  city;  the  harbour  rippled  a  brilliant 
blue.  A  hum  of  people  —  tanned  faces,  many 
peasants  from  Thracyna  still  clad  in  their  parti- 
coloured national  dress  —  swarmed  and  crowded 
upon  the  quays.  On  the  azure  of  the  water,  as  on 
liquid  metal,  the  ironclads,  which  were  to  welcome 


MAJESTY  143 

the  king  and  queen  and  serve  as  their  escort,  steamed 
out  to  the  mouth  of  the  harbour.  There,  on  the 
Xaveria,  with  their  suite  of  admirals  and  rear- 
admirals,  were  the  two  princes,  Othomar  and  Beren- 
gar,  and  their  brother-in-law,  the  Archduke  of  Ca- 
rinthia.  Innumerable  small  boats  glided  rapidly 
over  the  sea,  like  water-spiders. 

A  shot  from  Fort  Wenceslas,  tearing  the  vivid 
ether,  announced  the  moment  at  which  the  little 
fleet  met  the  Syrian  yacht  and  the  oriental  potent- 
ates left  her  for  the  Xaveria.  From  the  villas  on 
the  quays,  from  the  little  boats  full  of  sight-seers, 
every  glass  was  directed  towards  the  blue  horizon, 
tremulous  with  light,  on  which  the  ships  were  still 
visibly  shimmering.  Half  an  hour  later  there  rose, 
as  though  coming  from  the  Imperial,  the  cheers  of 
the  multitude,  surging  louder  and  louder  towards  the 
harbour.  Through  the  rows  of  the  grenadiers,  who 
lined  the  streets  from  the  palace  to  the  pavilion 
where  the  august  visitors  were  to  land,  came  the 
landaus,  driven  by  postillions,  in  which  their  majes- 
ties sat.  These  were  followed  by  the  carriages  of 
the"  two  sisters,  the  Archduchess  of  Carinthia  and 
Thera,  and  of  the  suite. 

The  fleet,  with  the  Syrian  yacht  in  its  centre,  had 
steamed  back  into  the  harbour.  Across  the  guard- 
of-honour  formed  by  the  throne-guards,  through  the 
purple  draperies  and  the  flags,  the  crowd  were  able 
to  see  something  of  the  meeting  of  the  sovereigns 
in  the  pavilion.  They  shouted  their  hurrahs;  and 
then  the  procession  drove  to  the  Imperial,  the  em- 
peror with  the  King  of  Syria  in  the  first  carriage, 
the  empress  with  the  queen  in  the  next;  after  these, 


H4  MAJESTY 

the  landaus  with  the  princes  and  princesses  and  the 
suite. 

A  series  of  festivals  and  displays  followed. 
After  the  tragedies  of  the  inundations  and  the  par- 
liamentary crisis,  a  mood  of  gaiety  blew  over  the 
capital,  as  it  glittered  in  the  sun,  and  lasted  till 
late  in  the  lighted  rooms  and  parks  of  the  Imperial. 
This  gaiety  was  because  of  the  eastern  queen.  The 
King  of  Syria  may  have  had  a  few  drops  of  the 
blood  of  Solomon  still  flowing  through  his  veins. 
But  the  queen  was  not  of  royal  descent.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  a  Syrian  magnate  and  her  mother's 
name  was  not  mentioned  in  the  Almanack  de  Gotha. 
That  mother  was  doubtless  a  favourite  of  dubious 
noble  descent,  but  nobody  knew  who  she  had  been 
exactly.  A  demi-mondaine  from  Paris  or  Vienna, 
who  had  stranded  in  the  east  and  made  her  fortune 
in  the  harem  of  some  great  Syrian?  A  half-Euro- 
pean, half-Egyptian  dancer  from  a  Cairene  or  Alex- 
andrian dancing-house?  Whoever  she  was,  her  lucky 
daughter,  the  Queen  of  Syria,  showed  an  unmis- 
takable mixture  of  blood,  something  at  once  eastern 
and  European.  Next  to  the  true  Semitic  type 
of  the  king,  who  possessed  a  certain  nervous  dignity 
in  his  half-European,  half-oriental  uniform  glitter- 
ing with  diamonds,  the  queen,  short,  fat,  chubby, 
pale-brown,  had  the  exuberant  smiles,  the  restless 
movements,  the  turning  head  and  rolling  eyes  of  a 
woman  of  colour.  Her  very  first  appearance,  as 
she  sat  in  the  carriage,  next  to  the  delicate  figure 
of  the  Empress  Elizabeth,  in  a  gaudy  travelling- 
dress  and  a  hat  with  great  feathers,  bowing  and 
laughing  on  every  side  with  profuse  amiability,  had 


MAJESTY  145 

affected  the  Liparians,  accustomed  to  the  calm 
haughtiness  of  their  own  rulers,  with  an  appa- 
rently inextinguishable  gaiety.  The  Queen  of  Syria 
became  the  universal  topic  of  conversation;  and 
every  conversation  referring  to  her  was  accented 
with  a  smile  of  wickedness.  Withal  she  seemed  so 
entirely  good-natured  that  it  was  impossible  to  say 
a  word  against  her;  and  people  were  only  amused 
about  her.  They  remembered  that  the  Syrians  had 
subscribed  fabulous  sums  at  the  time  of  the  inunda- 
tions. And  the  merriment  that  blew  over  Lipara 
was  a  southern  merriment,  free  from  malice  and 
vented  in  sheer  jolly  laughter  and  delight,  because 
the  Liparians  had  never  seen  so  droll  a  queen. 

The  great  manoeuvres  took  place  on  the  parade- 
ground.  The  king  accompanied  the  emperor  and 
the  princes  on  horseback,  with  a  bevy  of  European 
and  oriental  aides-de-camp.  Their  consorts  with 
their  suite  watched  the  march-past  from  landaus. 
Berengar  marched  bravely  with  his  company  of 
grenadiers,  in  which  he  was  a  lieutenant,  as  well  as 
he  could  march  with  his  short  little  legs,  and  stiffened 
his  small  features,  so  as  not  to  betray  the  difficulty 
it  cost  him  to  keep  pace  with  his  men's  long  step. 
The  hussars  astonished  the  Syrian  monarch  by  their 
unity  with  their  horses,  when  in  wild  career  they 
threw  themselves  half  off  and  in  still  more  rapid 
rushes  picked  up  a  flag  from  the  ground,  swung 
themselves  up  again  with  a  yell  and  waved  the  bunt- 
ing. The  Africans  executed  their  showy  fantasias, 
brandished  their  spears,  which  flashed  like  loosened 
sheaves  of  sunbeams,  and  came  fluttering  on  in 
clouds  of  white  burnouses  and  dust,  amid  which 


r46  MAJESTY 

their  negro  heads  clustered  darkly  in  endless  black 
patches  and  their  eyes  glistened. 

In  addition  there  was  a  military  tournament, 
followed  by  garden-parties,  races,  regattas,  popular 
games  and  fireworks.  Lipara  was  one  city  of 
pleasure.  Every  day  it  was  traversed  by  royal 
processions,  the  array  of  uniforms  glittered  like  live 
gold,  the  imperial  landaus  rattled  in  the  sun,  with 
the  spokes  of  their  wheels  flashing  through  the  light 
dust  which  flew  up  from  the  flagged  pavements  of 
the  town.  Most  brilliant  of  all,  like  drops  of 
white  flame,  were  the  diamonds  which  the  Syrian 
pair  wore  even  in  the  streets.  At  night,  when  the 
sun  ceased  shining,  there  shone  over  the  white  town, 
vague  with  evening  light,  and  over  its  violet  har- 
bour, festoons  of  salamanders  and  gaudy  bridges  of 
fire,  factitiously  bright  beneath  the  silent  silver 
glances  of  the  stars;  rockets  fell  hissing  into  the 
water,  on  which  the  boats  showed  black,  and  left 
behind  them  a  faint,  oppressive  savour  of  gun- 
powder in  the  night. 

In  the  great  hall  of  pillars  the  ceremonial  ban- 
quets followed  one  after  the  other,  with  a  display 
of  gold  plate  of  incredible  value.  The  Queen  of 
Syria  wore  her  curious,  theatrical  costumes,  her 
broad  bosom  always  crossed  by  the  blue  ribbon  of 
an  order  covered  with  badges;  her  hair  was  dressed 
with  tall  plumes,  hung  with  small  diamonds.  She 
talked  with  great  vivacity,  thankful  for  the  kind- 
ness of  her  Liparian  friends,  for  the  enjoyment  and 
for  the  cheering.  Her  profuse  gestures  enlivened 
everybody,  introduced  an  element  of  fun  into  the 
stately  Liparian  etiquette.  Elizabeth  herself  could 


MAJESTY  147 

not  but  laugh  at  them.  The  queen  played  her  royal 
part  with  the  self-possession  of  a  bad  but  good- 
natured  actress.  She  spoke  to  everybody,  spread 
amiable  little  atoms  of  her  small,,  chubby,  brown 
majesty  over  one  and  all.  Next  her  sat  the  king, 
looking  dignified  and  wise  as  Solomon.  The  em- 
peror praised  him  for  a  sensible,  broad-minded 
sovereign :  the  king  had  already  paid  many  visits  to 
Europe.  The  Syrian  aide-de-camps  were  dignified 
too,  calm  and  composed,  a  little  stiff  in  their  ways, 
adapting  themselves  to  western  manners;  the  queen's 
ladies-in-waiting  wore  the  trains  of  their  Paris  or 
London  dresses  a  little  strangely,  but  still  looked 
slender  in  them,  brown  and  attractive,  with  their 
curly  little  heads  and  long,  almond-shaped  eyes: 
still  they  would  have  been  prettier  in  draped  gold- 
gauze.  ' 

The  Syrians  stayed  twelve  days  before  going  on 
to  Italy.  It  was  the  last  evening  but  one:  in  the 
Imperial  a  suite  of  fourteen  rooms  had  been  lighted 
up  around  the  great  ballroom  for  a  ball.  Three 
thousand  invitations  had  been  sent  out.  In  the 
fore-court  and  in  the  neighbouring  main-streets 
stood  the  grenadiers. 

The  ballroom  was  at  the  back  of  the  palace;  the 
tall,  balconied  windows  were  open  and  looked  across 
their  balustrades  upon  the  shadows  of  the  park  of 
plane-trees.  The  band  resounded  from  the  groups 
of  palms  in  the  gallery.  The  imperial  quadrille  had 
been  formed  in  the  centre  of  the  room :  the  emperor 
with  the  queen,  the  king  and  the  empress,  the  Arch- 
duke of  Carinthia  and  Thera,  Othomar  with  the 
archduchess.  The  other  official  quadrilles  formed 


i48  MAJESTY 

their  figures  around  them.  Hundreds  of  guests 
looked  on. 

From  the  coruscating  rock-crystal  of  the  chan- 
deliers, the  electric  light  flowed  in  white  patches 
out  of  the  high  dome,  glided  along  the  inlaid-marble 
walls  and  porphyry  pillars  of  the  ballroom  and 
poured  in  millions  of  scintillations  on  the  smooth 
facets  of  the  jewels,  on  the  gold  of  the  uniforms 
and  court-dresses,  on  the  shimmering  white  brocades 
of  the  trains;  for  white  was  prescribed:  all  the  ladies 
were  in  white;  and  the  snow  of  the  velvets,  the  lily 
glow  of  the  satins  were  silver-shrill.  One  blinding 
whirl  of  refulgence  passed  through  the  immense 
room  with  its  changing  glamours.  For  the  light 
never  stood  still,  continually  changed  its  brightest 
spot,  turned  the  ball  into  one  glittering  kaleidoscope. 
The  light  gilded  each  bit  of  gold-lace,  was  caught 
in  every  brilliant,  hung  in  every  pearl.  The  music 
seemed  to  be  one  with  that  light;  the  brass  re- 
sounded like  gold. 

The  Duchess  of  Yemena  stood  among  a  group 
of  diplomatists  and  equerries;  she  rose  monumental 
in  her  beauty,  which  was  statuesque  and  splendid  in 
this  wayward  illumination.  She  seemed  superna- 
turally  tall,  thanks  to  the  heavy  Watteau  plait  which 
trailed  from  her  back  in  white  brocade.  She  wore 
her  tiara  of  emeralds  and  brilliants;  and  the  same 
green  stones  sparkled  in  a  great  jewelled  spray  that 
blossomed  over  her  bodice. 

The  emperor  came  up  to  her;  she  drooped  in 
her  famous  curtsey  and  Oscar  jested  with  her  for  a 
moment.  When  the  emperor  had  passed  on,  she 
saw  the  crown-prince  approach.  She  curtseyed 


MAJESTY  149 

again;  he  bowed  smilingly  and  offered  her  his  arm. 
Slowly  they  went  through  the  ballroom. 

"  I  have  something  important  to  say  to  you,"  he 
whispered,  in  a  conversational  tone. 

He  could  not  move  away  with  her;  they  would 
be  missed.  So  they  continued  to  walk  through  the 
rooms. 

"  It  is  so  long  since  I  saw  you  .  .  .  alone !  "  she 
whispered,  reproachfully,  in  the  same  voice.  "  And 
what  did  .  .  .  what  did  your  highness  wish  to  say 
to  me?" 

They  spoke  cautiously,  with  the  smile  of  cool 
conversation  on  their  lips,  deadening  the  sound  of 
their  voices,  casting  indifferent  glances  around  them, 
to  see  whether  they  could  be  overheard. 

"  Something  .  .  .  that  I  have  long  wanted  to 
tell  you.  ;  .  .  A  decision  I  have  to  take.  .  .  ." 

The  words  came  crumbling  in  fragments  from 
his  lips  and  not  sounding  with  their  true  accent, 
from  caution.  She  perceived  that  he  was  about  to 
tell  her  some  great  piece  of  news.  She  trembled 
without  knowing  why.  .  .  .  He  himself  did  not 
know  whether  what  he  was  doing  was  cruel  or  not : 
he  did  not  know  this  woman  well  enough  for  that. 
But  he  did  know  that  he  had  purposely  chosen  this 
difficult  moment  for  his  interview,  because  he  was 
uncertain  how  she  would  bear  it  ...  how  she  would 
bear  it  in  a  tete-a-tete,  when  she  would  be  able  to 
give  way  to  her  passion.  Here  he  knew  how  she 
would  bear  it:  smilingly,  as  a  woman  of  the  world, 
although  it  turned  to  anguish  for  her.  Perhaps 
after  all  he  was  cruel.  .  .  .  But  it  was  too  late  now : 
he  must  go  through  with  it. 


ISO  MAJESTY 

She  looked  up  at  him,  moving  the  feathers  of 
her  fan.  He  continued: 

"  A  decision.  .  .  .  When  our  Syrian  guests  have 
left  ...  I  ...  I  am  going  on  a  journey.  .  .  ." 

"  Where  to,  highness?  " 

"  To  ...  to   different   European   courts.  .  .  ." 

She  asked  nothing  more;  her  smile  died  away; 
then  she  smiled  again,  like  an  automaton.  She 
asked  nothing  more,  because  she  well  knew  what 
it  meant  when  a  crown-prince  went  on  a  journey 
to  different  European'courts.  That  meant  a  bridal 
progress.  And  she  merely  said,  in  a  voice  that 
could  not  but  sound  plaintively: 

"So  soon?  .   .   ." 

So  soon!  .  .  .  Was  her  imperial  romance  to  last 
so  short  a  time?  She  had  indeed  known  that  this 
might  be  the  end  of  it,  for  she  knew  him  to  be  too 
pure  to  retain  her  by  the  side  of  a  young  consort. 
Also  she  had  pictured  an  end  like  this  after  a  year, 
two  years  perhaps,  she  withdrawing  herself,  and  she 
had  pictured  to  herself  that  she  would  do  so  with- 
out any  feeling  of  spite  against  her  young  future 
empress.  But  now!  So  soon!  Barely  a  few 
weeks!  So  short  a  time  as  that  no  romance  of  her 
life  had  ever  lasted!  She  felt  an  aching  melan- 
choly; a  mist  hazed  over  her  eyes;  and  the  lights 
of  the  ballroom  shimmered  before  her  as  if  through 
water.  She  constantly  forgot  to  smile,  but,  so  soon 
as  she  remembered,  she  smiled  again : 

"So  soon?  .  .  ." 

11  It  must  be.  .  .  ." 

Yes,  it  must  be,  it  could  not  be  otherwise.     For 


MAJESTY  151 

her,  this  was  the  end  of  her  life.  She  felt  no 
despair  because  of  this  ending;  only  a  smarting 
sorrow.  It  was  the  end.  After  this  imperial  ro- 
mance there  would  be  no  other.  Oh  no,  never 
more!  She  would  sacrifice  her  youth  to  it;  she 
would  launch  her  stepdaughters  into  society.  She 
would  be  grateful  that  she  had  lived  and  would  now 
grow  old.  But  old:  she  was  still  so  young,  she  still 
felt  herself  so  young !  She  now  first  perceived  how 
she  loved  her  crown-prince.  And  she  would  have 
liked  to  be  elsewhere,  far  from  the  brilliant  ball,  to 
embrace  him  once  more  alone,  for  the  last  time.  .  .  . 
Oh,  this  sorrow  because  everything  must  end,  as 
though  nothing  were  more  than  a  fleeting  per- 
fume !  .  .  . 

"  I  am  trusting  you,  duchess,"  he  now  said.  "  I 
hope  you  will  say  nothing  about  this  journey.  You 
understand,  it  is  all  still  a  secret;  no  choice  has  been 
made  yet  ...  it  has  been  discussed  with  no  one 
except  their  majesties  and  Myxila.  I  can  trust  you, 
can't  I?" 

She  smilingly  nodded  yes. 

"  But  I  wanted  to  tell  you  at  once,"  he  continued. 

She  smiled  again.  At  this  moment  a  strange 
storm  seemed  to  burst  .  .  .  behind  the  palace,  un- 
der the  palace,  where?  Right  through  the  blare  of 
the  music  and  the  blaze  of  the  light,  a  crash  of 
thunder  shook  and  rolled.  It  was  as  though  the 
palace  had  been  struck  by  lightning,  for  immedi- 
ately afterwards,  through  the  open  windows,  there 
came  from  one  of  the  back-wings  of  the  palace  a 
rattling  clatter  of  stones,  which  seemed  tossed  into 


152  MAJESTY 

the  air,  of  great  rafters,  which  fell  noisily  and 
roughly,  of  shivers  of  glass,  which  seemed  to  be 
splintering  shrilly  on  every  side.  .  .  . 

The  music  was  suddenly  silenced.  The  uniforms, 
the  court-trains  rushed  to  the  open  balconies,  which 
overlooked  the  park;  but  the  night  was  dark,  the 
park  was  hushed.  A  last  couple  of  rafters  seemed 
to  be  still  falling,  with  a  last  crash  of  stones.  .  .  . 

In  the  bright  glare  of  the  electric  light,  faces 
turned  deathly  pale,  like  the  faces  of  corpses.  Eyes 
stared  at  one  another  in  terror.  The  duchess  half- 
sank  against  Othomar  when  she  saw  Elizabeth 
tear  past  her  with  wild,  vacant  eyes  and  out  at  a 
door,  her  long,  white  velvet  train  trailing  madly 
after  her,  round  the  corner.  The  mistress  of  the 
robes  followed  her;  so  did  Helene  of  Thesbia.  The 
emperor  appeared  to  give  the  chamberlains  some 
hurried  orders;  then  he  also  left  the  ballroom,  ac- 
companied by  a  few  officers. 

Shortly  afterwards  the  music  again  burst  forth 
from  the  balcony  in  the  gallery.  Many  equerries 
and  aides-de-camp  were  seen  bowing  to  their  part- 
ners, the  ladies  trembling  as  they  rose.  The  ball 
proceeded;  the  uniforms  and  trains  glittered  as  be- 
fore in  the  windings  of  the  waltz.  But  the  smiles 
seemed  to  have  been  obliterated  from  the  dancers' 
features  and  their  pallid  faces  turned  the  ball  into  a 
dance  of  death. 

Leoni,  shivering,  bowed  before  Othomar: 

"  A  dynamite  explosion,  low  down  in  the  cellars 
of  the  western  back-wing.  The  anterooms  of  his 
majesty's  private  apartments  are  destroyed.  His 
majesty  requests  your  highness  to  make  every  effort 


MAJESTY  153 

to  continue  the  ball.  All  officers  and  court-ladies 
are  commanded  to  dance." 

The  duchess  clutched  Othomar's  arm,  almost 
fainting.  The  rumour  spread  around  them.  The 
equerries  dragged  their  partners  along  half-swoon- 
ing. Two  were  seen  carried  away  in  a  dead  faint. 
The  Queen  of  Syria  stood  vacantly  beside  the  Arch- 
duke of  Carinthia,  who  put  his  arm  round  her  heavy 
waist  to  dance.  She  did  not  yet  seem  able  to  make 
up  her  mind. 

Othomar  passed  his  arm  round  the  duchess: 

"  O  God,  I  can't  do  it!  "  she  stammered.  "  For 
God's  sake,  highness,  don't  ask  me !  .  .  ." 

"  We  must,"  he  said.  "  His  majesty  wishes 
it.  .  .  ." 

"  His  majesty  wishes.  .  .  ."  she  repeated. 

Her  legs  trembled  beneath  her  as  though  with 
electric  thrills.  Then  she  let  him  take  her  and  they 
danced. 

Every  one  danced. 

The  empress  had  rushed  up  the  stairs  and  along 
the  galleries  to  the  bedroom-floor.  She  did  not  see 
that  two  ladies  were  following  her;  she  thrust  back 
a  door: 

"  Berengar !  "  she  screamed. 

The  young  prince's  bedroom  was  lighted.  The 
boy  had  half-risen,  in  his  little  shirt,  from  his  camp- 
bed.  His  valet  and  a  chambermaid  stood  in  dis- 
may in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"Berengar!"  the  empress  gasped  out,  rejoicing 
when  she  saw  him  unharmed. 

She  threw  her  arms  around  him,  pressed  him  to 
her  bosom. 


154  MAJESTY 

"  Oh,  mamma,  you're  hurting  me !  "  cried  the 
boy,  indignantly. 

Her  jewels  had  brought  a  drop  of  blood  from 
his  little  bare  chest.  She  now  embraced  him  more 
gently,  with  nervous  sobs  that  choked  in  her  throat. 
A  spray  of  diamond  ostrich-feathers  fell  to  the 
ground;  the  maid  picked  them  up  with  awkward 
fingers. 

"  Mamma,  are  they  blowing  up  the  palace?  " 

"  No,  Berengar,  no,  it's  nothing.  .  .  ." 

"  Mamma,  I  want  to  go  and  look !  I  must  see 
what's  happening!  " 

"Berengar.  .  .  ." 

The  door  had  been  left  open;  the  emperor  en- 
tered, calmly.  The  ladies  stood  in  the  corridor, 
waiting  for  the  empress.  .  .  . 

"  Papa,  may  I  go  with  you  and  look?  " 

"  No,  Berengar,  there's  nothing  to  see.  Go  to 
sleep.  .  .  ." 

Then  he  offered  his  arm  to  Elizabeth : 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  tranquilly. 

She  threw  him  an  imploring  glance.  He  con- 
tinued to  hold  out  his  arm  to  her.  Then  she  kissed 
the  boy  once  more,  soothed  him  to  sleep : 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  she  stammered  to  Oscar. 

She  went  to  the  glass;  the  maid,  with  her  clumsy 
fingers,  fastened  the  jewelled  spray  to  the  edge  of 
the  low-cut  bodice,  spread  out  the  square  train. 

"  I'm  ready,"  the  empress  said  to  Oscar,  in  a 
lifeless  voice. 

She  took  his  arm;  the  emperor  just  pressed  her 
hand;  and  they  nodded  once  more  to  Berengar  and 
went. 


MAJESTY  155 

Arm-in-arm  the  imperial  pair  appeared  for  the 
second  time  at  the  ball.  The  empress  was  pale  but 
smiling.  She  was  magnificent,  delicate  with  dainty 
majesty  in  the  trailing  white  velvet,  upon  which, 
on  the  bodice  and  over  the  front  of  the  skirt, 
flickered  sprays  of  diamond  ostrich-feathers,  formed 
into  fleurs-de-lys.  An  empress'  crown  of  brilliants 
crowned  her  small,  round  head. 

It  was  two  o'clock.  Generally  the  sovereigns 
were  accustomed  to  stay  till  one  o'clock  at  the  court 
balls.  The  Queen  of  Syria,  however,  in  her  exuber- 
ant love  of  life,  had  begged  them  to  stay  longer. 
They  had  consented.  Had  they  left  at  one  o'clock, 
the  explosion  would  have  taken  place  at  the  moment 
when  Oscar  would  ,probably  just  have  entered  his 
apartments.  They  had  first  talked  of  the  ante- 
rooms only:  but  it  would  now  appear  that  great 
damage  had  also  been  done  to  the  emperor's  own 
room. 

Supper  began.  They  supped  in  a  large  hall; 
from  every  table  rose  a  palm-tree  and  the  hall  was 
thus  turned  into  a  forest  of  palms.  The  floor  was 
strewn  with  gold  sand,  which  powdered  the  trains 
as  their  wearers  walked  upon  it.  Electric  light 
shone  through  the  long  leaves  like  moonlight.  In 
this  moonlight  the  faces  remained  deadly  white,  like 
patches  of  chalk,  above  the  glittering  crystal  and  all 
the  gold  plate.  The  music  clattered  with  great 
cymbal-strokes  of  brass. 


156  MAJESTY 

5 

"  TO  HER  MAJESTY  THE  QUEEN  OF  GOTHLAND. 

"  IMPERIAL, 

"  LlPARA, 

"—May,  1 8— . 
"  MY  DEAREST  SISTER, 

"  At  last  I  can  find  time  to  write  to  you.  The  ex- 
citement of  the  visit  of  our  good  Syrians  is  over 
and  Lipara  has  calmed  down.  But  my  reflections 
are  nothing  but  sadness.  And  this  is  why,  Olga. 

u  I  fear  that  Othomar  is  much  more  ill  than  the 
doctors  perceive.  He  has  become  thinner  and  looks 
very  bad.  He  never  complains  much,  but  yet  he 
told  me  lately  that  he  often  felt  tired.  The  doctors 
think  that  he  needs  a  rest  and  recommend  a  long 
sea-voyage.  His  journey  through  Europe,  about 
which  I  wrote  to  you  in  my  last,  will  have  to  be 
postponed.  And  now  I  want  to  ask  you  a  favour. 

"  I  know  that  Herman  is  soon  going  to  take  a 
long  voyage  on  the  Viking  to  India,  Japan  and 
America;  and  it  would  be  my  fondest  wish  at  this 
moment  that  Othomar  might  accompany  him. 
When  the  doctors  advised  a  sea-voyage,  I  discussed 
the  matter  to  Oscar,  but  we  came  to  no  decision. 
My  boy,  you  must  know,  Olga,  has  no  friend  of  his 
own  age;  and  this  made  me  so  sad  and  we  did  not 
know  how  nor  with  whom  to  send  him  on  this 
voyage  in  a  way  which  would  be  pleasant  for  him 
and  which  would  not  involve  a  solitary  banishment 
from  our  home-circle.  He  is  on  excellent  terms 
with  his  equerries,  but  yet  that  is  not  what  I  should 


MAJESTY  157 

desire :  a  cordial,  mutual,  confidential  friendship  with 
some  one  of  his  own  age  with  whom  he  could  spend 
a  certain  time,  solely  with  a  view  to  enjoyment  and 
relaxation. 

"  I  know  quite  well  that  it  is  to  some  extent  my 
boy's  fault  and  due  to  his  innate  diffidence  and  re- 
ticence. Nevertheless  he  has  qualities  for  which 
he  could  easily  be  loved,  if  they  were  known,  if  he 
allowed  them  to  appear.  Don't  you  agree,  Olga? 
You  are  fond  of  him  too:  it  is  not  only  my  own 
blind  mother's  love  that  finds  my  son  lovable  and 
sympathetic?  And  that  is  why  I  should  be  so  very 
glad  if  Herman  would  take  him  with  him  and  learn 
to  know  him  better:  who  knows  whether  they  would 
not  then  come  to  love  each  other!  Othomar  has 
already  told  me  that,  on  their  journey  through  the 
north  of  Liparia,  they  were  drawn  much  closer  to- 
gether than  they  had  thought  they  would  be ;  but  it 
was  a  busy  time  :  every  moment  was  filled  with  duties 
and  business  and  they  had  no  time  to  talk  together 
and  get  to  know  each  other.  And  yet,  at  such  a 
difficult  period  of  united  labour,  two  young  men  can 
learn  to  know  each  other  even  without  talking.  At 
any  rate,  they  have  already  become  more  friendly. 
At  one  time,  Olga,  they  used  to  dislike  each  other, 
to  my  bitter  sorrow;  they  would  even  not  meet; 
even  outwardly  there  was  nothing  but  coolness  be- 
tween them :  oh,  how  unhappy  all  this  used  to  make 
me,  when  I  saw  our  boys  so  hostile  to  each  other 
and  remembered  how  we  used  to  be,  Olga,  when  we 
were  girls  together  in  our  beautiful  old  castle  near 
Bucharest !  How  we  lived  bound  up  in  each  other ! 
Olga,  Olga,  how  terribly  long  ago  that  all  is !  Our 


158  MAJESTY 

parents  are  dead,  our  brothers  dispersed,  the  castle 
is  deserted  and  we  are  separated:  when  do  we  see 
each  other?  Scarcely  now  and  then,  for  a  couple 
of  days  at  a  time,  when  we  meet  somewhere  for  a 
wedding  of  relations;  and  then  these  are  always 
restless  days,  when  we  can  see  next  to  nothing  of 
each  other.  Then,  sometimes,  not  even  every  year, 
a  fortnight  either  in  Gothland  or  here.  You  some- 
times reproach  me  that  I,  who  am  so  fond  of  Goth- 
land, come  to  you  so  seldom,  but  it  is  always  for 
the  same  reason:  Othomar  does  not  care  to  leave 
Liparia  and  I  can't  leave  my  husband.  I  can  be 
strong  when  I  am  at  his  side,  but  alone  I  am  so 
weak,  Olga.  That  anything  might  happen  to  him 
which  I  should  not  share  increases  my  dread  unbear- 
ably. I  felt  that  again  quite  lately,  when  I  was 
with  Thera  at  Altara :  our  visit  was  announced  and 
binding;  and,  however  unwilling  I  was  to  leave 
Oscar,  I  was  obliged  to  go,  was  I  not?  It  was  just 
at  that  trying  period;  Lipara  was  under  martial 
law.  But  Oscar  wished  me  to  go  and  I  went.  Oh, 
how  I  suffered  at  that  time ! 

"  But  I  am  becoming  used  to  my  fears,  I  do  not 
complain  and  I  accept  life  as  it  comes;  I  only  hope 
that  my  boy  will  also  learn  to  accept  it  thus.  Per- 
haps he  will  learn.  Indeed  it  is  not  so  easy  for 
him,  for  he  will  have  to  do  more  than  his  mother, 
who,  as  a  woman,  can  be  much  more  passive;  and 
it  is  easier  to  learn  to  acquiesce  passively  than  act- 
ively. But  the  Saints  will  surely  give  him  strength 
later  to  bear  his  lot  and  his  crown;  this  I  rely  upon. 
And  yet,  O  Olga,  it  makes  me  so  immensely  sad  that 
we  are  sovereigns!  But  let  me  not  continue  in  this 


MAJESTY  159 

strain:  it  weakens  one,   it  is  not  right,  it  is  not 
right.  ... 

"  There  is  also  a  secret  reason  why  I  should  like 
to  get  Othomar  away  from  Lipara,  though  it  always 
grieves  me  so  much  to  part  from  my  darling. 
There  seems  after  all  to  be  some  truth  in  those 
rumours  about  the  Duchess  of  Yemena :  Oscar  asked 
Myxila  about  it  and  he  could  not  deny  it  and  even 
said  that  it  was  generally  known.  I  do  my  best  not 
to  take  it  too  much  to  heart,  Olga,  but  I  think  it  a 
terrible  thing.  O  God,  let  me  not  think  or  write 
about  it  any  more;  otherwise  it  will  go  whirling  so 
in  my  poor  head !  What  can  my  son  see  in  a 
woman  who  is  older  than  his  own  mother!  What 
a  terrible  world,  this  is,  Olga,  in  which  these  things 
take  place;  and  how  can  there  be  such  women,  whom 
you  and  I  will  never  understand!  For,  after  all, 
temperament  is  not  everything:  every  woman  has 
her  own  heart;  and  in  that  we  ought  all  to  see  one 
another;  but  it  would  seem  that  we  can't.  In  my 
sadness  about  this,  I  prefer  to  assume  that  the 
woman  loves  my  boy  and  therefore  deceives  her 
husband.  Oh,  it  is  so  wicked  also  of  my  boy:  why 
need  he  be  like  this,  he  who  is  otherwise  so  good ! 
I  just  assume  that  she  loves  him.  Not  long  ago  we 
had  my  last  drawing-room,  the  function  with  which, 
as  you  know,  our  winter-season  ends ;  and,  when  she 
came  up  to  me  and  bowed  before  me  and  pressed 
her  lips  to  my  hand,  she  must  have  felt  my  dis- 
approval and  my  sadness  radiating  from  my  fingers, 
for  she  rose  out  of  her  curtsey  with  a  desperate  look 
of  anguish  in  her  eyes  and  a  sort  of  sob  in  her 
throat !  I  stared  at  Jjer  coldly,  but  all  the  same  I 


160  MAJESTY 

pitied  her,  Olga,  for,  when  a  woman  of  our  world 
is  so  little  able  to  control  herself  at  a  ceremonial 
moment,  in  the  presence  of  her  empress,  her  soul 
must  have  sustained  a  severe  shock:  do  you  not 
think  so  too? 

"  We  are  now  quiet.  In  a  week  we  are  going  to 
our  summer-quarters  in  Xara,  at  Castel  Xaveria ;  the 
weather  is  already  very  hot  here.  I  should  so 
much  like  to  have  your  answer  before  we  leave  and 
to  know  how  Herman  takes  my  request.  I  know 
that  he  is  very  fond  of  me  and  will  doubtless  gladly 
grant  it  and  that  he  will  try  to  like  Othomar  for 
my  sake;  and  let  me  hasten  to  add  that  it  is  also 
Othomar's  dearest  wish  that  he  should  travel  with 
Herman.  The  sea-voyage  did  not  attract  him  in 
the  least  at  first,  because  he  knew  of  no  one  to  take 
with  him  and  he  said  he  preferred  to  go  with  us  to 
Castel  Xaveria;  but,  when  I  mentioned  Herman,  he 
joined  in  my  plan  entirely. 

"  Olga,  what  will  the  summer  bring  us,  peace  or 
not?  I  dare  not  hope.  The  winter  has  been  hor- 
rible; our  northern  provinces  have  not  yet  recovered 
from  the  disasters.  The  misery  there  is  irretriev- 
able. There  is  an  epidemic  of  typhoid  and  there 
have  been  many  cases  of  cholera.  The  strikes  in 
the  east  are  now  over,  but  I  am  so  afraid  of  that 
rough,  violent  repression.  Oh,  if  everything  could 
only  be  done  with  gentleness!  That  attempt  on 
Othomar's  life  and  the  explosion  at  the  last  ball 
have  also  made  me  so  ill.  How  I  should  love  to 
see  you  and  take  you  in  my  arms :  can  you  not  come 
to  Castel  Xaveria  and  spend  the  summer  with  us? 
It  would  give  me  such  intense,  such  intense  pleasure ! 


MAJESTY  161 

"  Kiss  Siegfried  and  the  children  for  me.  And 
answer  me  soon,  will  you  not?  I  embrace  you 
fervently. 

"  Your  affectionate  sister, 

"  ELIZABETH." 


CHAPTER  IV 


AUGUST,  on  the  Baltic.  The  grey  billows  curl 
against  the  rocks  with  high,  rounded  crests  of  thick 
foam.  The  sky  above  is  one  wide  cupola,  through 
which  drift  great  mountain-ranges  of  grey-white 
clouds.  They  come  up  slowly,  filling  the  firmament 
with  their  changing,  shadowy  masses,  like  chains  of 
rocks  and  Alps  floating  on  the  air,  and  slowly  drift 
away  again.  The  sea  has  a  narrow  beach,  with 
many  crumbling  cliffs;  quite  close  at  hand  loom 
sombre  green  pine-woods.  With  the  gloom  of  the 
pine-woods  for  a  background,  as  it  were  half  out 
of  the  cliffs  rises  old  Altseeborgen.  It  is  a  weather- 
beaten  castle,  at  which  the  writhing  waves  seem  to 
gnaw;  its  three  tall,  uneven  towers  soar  round  and 
massive  into  the  sky.  The  broad  road  to  the  castle 
slants  up  from  the  woods  terrace-wise  and  leads  to 
the  esplanade  at  the  back,  where  the  main  entrance 
is.  Round  the  castle  the  wide  granite  terraces  are 
cut  into  stairs,  with  their  rugged  balustrades,  whose 
freestone  is  worn  away  by  the  salt  air.  These  ter- 
races enjoy  a  more  extensive  view  of  the  sea  as  they 
rise  higher,  higher;  and,  seen  from  the  topmost 
terrace,  the  sea  lies  against  the  beach,  to  right  and 
left,  in  one  great,  strangely  mobile  expanse,  a  living 
element.  Across  the  sea  the  south-winds  blow  upon 
the  castle;  the  pine-woods  shelter  it  to  some  extent 
from  the  northernly  gales. 

162 


MAJESTY  163 

From  the  tallest  tower  an  imposing  standard 
flaps  gaily  in  the  air:  two  yellow  stripes  and  a  white 
stripe  between,  with  the  dark  patch  of  the  crenel- 
lated fortress  which  forms  the  arms  of  Gothland. 
It  floats  there  on  the  sunless  morning  like  a  smile 
in  the  sky;  it  swells  and  falls  limp  again  and  then 
again  lets  itself  be  blown  high  up  by  the  wind,  which 
comes  swinging  lustily  over  the  water. 

A  young  man  and  a  girl  are  walking  on  the  beach ; 
they  talk,  smile,  look  at  each  other.  She  is  taller 
than  he,  with  a  very  fair  complexion;  under  her 
little  sailor-hat  a  few  of  her  auburn  tresses,  tangled 
by  the  wind,  blow  across  her  face;  she  keeps  on 
smoothing  them  away.  She  wears  a  simple  blue 
serge  skirt  and  a  white  blouse,  with  a  broad  leather 
belt  around  her  waist.  Her  dainty  little  feet,  in 
their  black-silk  stockings  and  yellow-leather  shoes, 
are  constantly  uncovered  by  the  wind.  She  care- 
lessly swings  a  pair  of  gloves  in  her  hand. 

The  young  man  wears  a  light  check  summer  suit 
and  a  straw  hat.  He  is  short  and  slender;  his 
black  eyes  have  a  look  of  gentle  melancholy.  He 
appears  to  be  telling  the  girl  by  his  side  a  tale  of 
travel;  she  listens,  with  her  smile. 

Round  about  them,  in  spite  of  the  wind,  the  at- 
mosphere is  full  of  peace.  Walking  along  the 
beach,  they  go  by  the  castle,  pass  round  behind  it 
and  look  up.  From  one  of  the  windows  somebody 
gaily  waves  a  hand  and  calls  out  something.  They 
try  to  hear,  with  their  hands  to  their  ears,  but  they 
shrug  their  shoulders :  the  wind  has  blown  the  words 
away.  They  wave  their  hands  again  and  walk  on. 

They  do  not  go  far,  however,  always  along  the 


i64  MAJESTY 

beach.  Yonder  lies  the  fishing-village,  lie  a  couple 
of  small  villas,  almost  cottages.  One  of  them  seems 
just  to  have  been  taken  by  a  large  family,  for  the 
holiday-month  no  doubt;  a  hum  of  voices  issues  from 
it,  children  chase  one  another  along  the  beach;  a 
tiny  girl,  in  running,  bumps  against  the  young  man. 

"  Hullo  there !  "  he  says,  pleasantly,  with  a  laugh. 

Laughing  they  walk  on. 

The  children  run  along.  A  fisherman  comes  with 
his  nets,  grins  cheerily  and  mutters  a  greeting.  A 
fat  lady  in  the  verandah  has  been  watching  the 
young  people  inquisitively;  she  sees  the  fisherman 
touch  his  cap  and  beckons  to  him : 

'Who  are  that  lady  and  gentleman?" 

The  fisherman  points  cheerily  to  Altseeborgen : 

"  From  the  castle." 

"But  who  are  they?"   asks  the  lady,   alarmed. 

"  Well,  the  gentleman  is  the  Prince  of  Liparia 
and  the  young  lady  is  an  Austrian  princess,"  says 
the  fisherman,  as  if  it  could  not  well  be  anybody  else. 

The  lady  looks  in  dismay  after  the  princely  pair 
and  then  in  despair  at  her  running  children.  The 
young  couple  are  just  turning  back  in  their  walk; 
they  are  now  laughing  even  more  gaily  than  before 
and  are  hastening  a  little  towards  the  castle,  as 
though  they  had  delayed  too  long.  The  lady,  still 
pale,  does  not  dare  to  offer  excuses,  but  makes  a  low 
bow;  she  receives  a  pleasant  greeting  in  return. 


The  royal  family  of  Gothland  were  in  the  habit 
of  spending  the   whole   summer   at  Altseeborgen. 


MAJESTY  165 

The  beach  was  particularly  well-suited  for  laying 
out  a  watering-place  around  the  fishing-village,  but 
King  Siegfried  would  never  hear  of  this:  the  beach 
and  the  village  were  royal  domains;  a  few  modest 
villas  were  all  that  he  had  granted  permission  to 
build.  Generally  these  were  visited  in  the  summer 
by  two  or  three  middle-class  families  with  their 
children.  Altseeborgen  should  never  become  a 
modern  bathing-place,  however  excellent  the  fashion- 
able world  might  consider  it  as  a  means  of  summer 
display,  lying  as  it  did  in  the  immediate  neighbour- 
hood of  the  royal  castle. 

But  the  Gothlandic  family  made  a  point  of 
guarding  the  freedom  of  their  summer  lives.  They 
lived  there  for  four  months,  without  palace-eti- 
quette, in  the  greatest  simplicity.  They  formed  a 
numerous  family;  and  there  were  always  many 
visitors.  The  king  attended  to  state-affairs  in 
homely  fashion  at  the  castle.  His  grandchildren 
would  run  into  his  room  while  he  was  discussing 
important  business  with  the  prime  minister,  who 
came  down  to  Altseeborgen  on  certain  days.  He 
just  patted  their  flaxen  curls  and  sent  them  away  to 
play,  with  a  caress.  Staying  at  the  castle  were  the 
Crown-prince  Gunther  and  the  Crown-princess 
Sofie,  a  German  princess  —  Duke  and  Duchess  of 
Wendeholm  —  with  their  four  children,  a  girl  and 
three  boys.  Next  to  the  duke  came  Prince  Her- 
man; next  to  him  Princess  Wanda,  twenty  years 
of  age;  next  to  her,  the  younger  princes,  Olaf  and 
Christofel.  In  addition  there  were  always  two  old 
princesses,  sisters  of  the  king,  widows  of  German 
princes.  From  all  the  courts  of  Europe,  which 


1 66  MAJESTY 

• 

were  as  one  great  family,  different  members  came 
from  time  to  time  to  stay,  bringing  with  them  their 
respective  nuances  of  a  different  nationality,  some- 
thing exotic  in  voice  and  manner,  so  far  as  all  this 
was  not  merged  in  their  cosmopolitanism. 

Othomar  had  been  three  months  at  sea  with  Her- 
man; they  had  touched  shore  in  India,  China,  Japan 
and  America.  They  had  travelled  incognito,  so 
as  to  escape  all  official  receptions,  and  Othomar  had 
borne  no  other  title  than  that  of  Prince  Czykirski. 
The  voyage  had  done  Othomar  much  good:  he 
was  even  feeling  so  well  that  he  had  written  to  the 
Empress  Elizabeth  that  he  would  like  to  stay  some 
time  longer  in  the  family-circle  at  Altseeborgen,  but 
that  he  would  afterwards  undertake  his  long-con- 
templated journey  to  the  European  courts. 

Their  easy  life  in  each  other's  company  had  done 
much  to  bring  the  cousins  closer  together.  Herman 
had  learnt  to  see  in  Othomar,  beneath  his  stiffness 
and  lack  of  ease,  a  young  crown-prince  who  was 
afraid  of  his  future,  but  who  possessed  much  rea- 
sonableness and  was  willing  to  learn  to  acquiesce  in 
life  and  to  fortify  himself  for  his  coming  yoke  of 
empire.  He  understood  Othomar  and  felt  sorry 
for  him.  He  himself  took  a  vital  pleasure  in  life: 
merely  to  breathe  was  an  enjoyment;  his  existence 
as  a  second  son,  with  only  his  naval  duties,  which  he 
loved  by  heredity,  as  a  descendant  of  the  old  sea- 
kings  might  well  love  them,  opened  before  him  a 
prospect  of  nothing  but  continued,  cloudless  freedom 
from  care;  that  he  was  a  king's  son  gave  him  no- 
thing but  satisfaction  and  delight;  and  he  appre- 
ciated his  high  estate  with  jovial  pleasure,  skimming 


MAJESTY  167 

the  cream  from  a  chalice  out  of  which  Othomar  in 
due  time  would  drink  gall  and  wormwood.  If  at 
first  he  compared  Othomar  with  his  brother,  the 
Duke  of  Wendeholm  —  a  crown-prince  too,  of 
Gothland  he  —  Herman  now  compared  them  no 
longer;  his  judgement  had  become  more  reasonable: 
he  understood  that  no  comparison  was  possible. 
Liparia  was  a  tremendous,  almost  despotic  empire; 
the  people,  especially  in  the  south,  always  very 
fickle,  always  kept  in  check  by  force,  on  account  of 
their  childish  uncertainty  as  to  what,  in  their  capri- 
ciousness,  they  would  do  next.  The  Gothlanders,  on 
the  other  hand,  calmly  liberal  in  temperament,  de- 
void of  noisy  vehemence,  ranged  themselves  peace- 
fully, with  their  long-established,  ample  constitution, 
round  King  Siegfried,  whom  they  called  the  father 
of  his  country.  That  Gunther  was  not  afraid  of 
having  to  wear  the  crown  one  day,  was  this  a  reason 
why  Othomar  should  be  without  his  fear?  Did 
Othomar  not  possess  the  gentler  qualities,  which  are 
valued  in  the  narrow  circle  of  intimate  surroundings 
and  arouse  esteem  among  a  few  sympathetic  na- 
tures, rather  than  that  fiercer  brilliancy  of  character, 
which  makes  its  possessor  stand  out  in  clear  relief 
in  high  places  and  awakens  admiration  in  the  mul- 
titude ?  Was  this  boy,  with  his  soul  full  of  scruples, 
his  nostalgia  after  justice,  his  yearning  for  love,  his 
easily  wounded  sensitiveness,  was  he  the  son  of  his 
ancestors,  the  descendant  of  Berengar  the  Strong, 
Wenceslas  the  Cruel,  son  of  the  warlike  Xaveria, 
or  was  he  not  rather  the  child  of  his  gentle  mother 
alone? 

It  was  not  in  Herman's  way  to  reflect  much  and 


1 68  MAJESTY 

long  on  all  this,  but  it  came  to  him  suddenly, 
abruptly,  like  a  new  view  that  is  opened  out  in  a 
brighter  light.  And  what  had  been  antipathy  in 
him  became  compassion,  friendship  and  astonish- 
ment at  the  disposition  of  the  universe,  which  knew 
not  what  else  to  do  with  a  soul  like  Othomar's  but 
to  crush  it  beneath  a  crown. 

The  simple  family-life  at  Altseeborgen  worked 
on  Othomar  like  a  cure.  He  felt  himself  reviving 
amid  natural  surroundings,  his  humanity  developing 
wide  and  untrammelled.  Accustomed  as  he  was  to 
the  ceremonial  life  of  the  Imperial,  with  its  court- 
etiquette  strictly  maintained  by  the  Emperor  Oscar, 
he  was  at  first  surprised,  but  soon  delighted  by  the 
almost  homely  simplicity  of  his  Gothlandic  relations. 
In  former  years,  it  is  true,  he  had  paid  an  occasional 
brief  visit  to  Altseeborgen,  but  had  never  stayed 
long  enough  to  be  able  to  count  himself,  as  now, 
quite  one  of  themselves. 

Othomar  was  at  this  moment  the  only  visitor  from 
abroad,  except  the  Archduchess  Valerie,  a  niece  of 
the  Emperor  of  Austria.  Did  the  young  people 
suspect  anything,  or  not?  Were  their  names 
coupled  together  by  the  younger  princes  and  prin- 
cesses? Not  so,  to  all  outward  seeming:  only 
once  or  twice  had  Princess  Sofie  or  Princess 
Wanda  found  it  necessary  to  hush  her  young 
brothers  with  a  glance.  And  yet  it  was  with  a 
serious  intention  that  the  Queen  of  Gothland,  in 
concert  with  the  Emperor  of  Liparia  and  Valerie's 
parents  —  the  Archduke  Albrecht  and  the  Arch- 
duchess of  Eudoxie,  who  lived  at  Sigismundingen 
Castle  —  had  brought  the  young  people  together. 


MAJESTY  169 

The  Emperor  Oscar  would  certainly  have  preferred 
one  of  the  young  Russian  grand-duchesses,  a  niece 
of  the  Czar,  for  his  daughter-in-law;  but  the  dif- 
ference in  religion  remained  an  insurmountable 
obstacle;  and  the  emperor,  despite  his  preference, 
had  no  objection  to  the  Austrian  alliance. 

Perhaps  Othomar  and  Valerie  divined  this  in- 
tention, but  the  secret  caused  no  constraint  between 
them;  they  were  both  so  accustomed  to  hearing  the 
names  of  well-known  princes  or  princesses  connected 
with  theirs  and  even  to  seeing  them  mentioned  in 
the  papers :  announcements  of  betrothals  which  were 
immediately  contradicted;  they  had  even  jested  to- 
gether about  the  number  of  times  that  public  opinion 
had  married  them  to  this  one  or  to  that,  each  time 
to  somebody  else;  sometimes  even  the  news  came  as 
a  surprise  to  themselves,  which  they  found  in  the 
newspapers  and  laughed  at.  They  paid  no  heed 
therefore  to  the  rare  mischievous  remarks  of 
Prince  Olaf  or  Prince  Christofel,  sturdy  lads  of 
seventeen  and  fifteen,  who  thought  it  great  fun  to 
tease.  And  all  this  time  Queen  Olga,  so  sensible 
and  reasonable,  brought  not  the  least  influence  to 
bear  upon  them.  She  had  invited  them  together, 
but  she  did  nothing  more.  Perhaps  she  observed 
silently  how  they  behaved  towards  each  other  and 
wrote  just  one  letter  on  the  subject  to  her  sister,  but 
she  kept  quite  outside  the  meshes  which  were  weav- 
ing between  their  two  crowned  lives.  Yet  it  was 
difficult  for  her  to  stand  aloof.  She  was  fond  of 
Valerie  and  thought  that  this  marriage  would  be  in 
every  way  good.  But  added  to  that  came  urgent 
letters  from  Sigismundingen  and  even  from  Vienna, 


1 70  MAJESTY 

where  they  wished  for  nothing  more  eagerly  than  to 
see  the  young  archduchess  Duchess  of  Xara.  For 
this,  apart  from  the  natural  inclination  of  the  Aus- 
trian court  to  set  store  by  a  renewed  alliance  with 
Liparia,  there  were  other  reasons  of  a  more  intimate 
character. 


The  sun  had  appeared  through  the  clouds  in  the 
afternoon  and  made  the  grey  of  the  sky  and  the 
water  turn  blue  with  the  hazy  blueness  of  a  northern 
summer.  The  sea  glowed  and  put  on  scales  of 
gold;  the  weather-beaten  castle  stood  blistering  its 
broad  granite  pile  in  the  sun,  as  an  old  man  does 
his  back.  The  striped  canvas  awning  was  lowered 
on  the  top  terrace,  which  led  into  the  great  hall 
through  three  glass  doors.  Rugs  lay  scattered  over 
the  ground.  Princess  Sofie  and  the  Archduchess 
Valerie  sat  in  great  wickerwork  chairs,  painting  in 
water-colours.  From  the  hall  sounded,  monoton- 
ously, the  soft  exercises  of  Princess  Elizabeth,  the 
crown-princess'  eldest  daughter,  who  was  practising. 
Princess  Wanda  sat  on  the  ground,  romping  a  trifle 
boisterously  with  her  youngest  two  nephews,  Erik 
and  Karl.  On  a  long  wicker  chair  lay  Prince  Her- 
man, with  both  legs  up;  next  to  him  was  a  little 
table  heaped  with  newspapers  and  periodicals,  some 
of  which  had  fallen  to  the  ground ;  a  great  tumbler 
of  sherry-cobbler  stood  on  the  wicker  ledge  of  his 
chair;  the  blue  smoke  rose  from  a  cigarette  between 
his  fingers. 

Sofie  and  Valerie  compared  their  sketches  and 


MAJESTY  171 

laughed.  They  looked  at  the  sky,  which  was  bi- 
sected by  the  awning:  the  clouds,  woolly  white, 
surged  one  above  the  other;  the  sea  was  dazzling 
with  its  golden  scales,  like  a  giant  cuirass. 

"  What  are  you  two  painting  there?  "  asked  Her- 
man, who  was  turning  the  pages  of  an  illustrated 
paper. 

"  Clouds,"  replied  Valerie,  "  nothing  but  clouds. 
I  have  persuaded  Sofie  to  make  studies  of  clouds 
with  me.  Presently,  if  you're  not  too  lazy,  you 
must  come  and  look  at  my  album."  She  gave  a 
little  laugh.  "  It  contains  nothing  but  clouds !  " 

"  By  Jove !  "  drawled  Herman.  "  How  very 
odd!  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,"  said  Sofie,  dreamily,  "  clouds  are  very 
nice,  but  you  never  know  how  to  catch  them:  they 
change  every  instant." 

"  Erik,"  said  Herman,  "  just  ask  Aunt  Valerie 
to  lend  me  her  album." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Wanda,  "  go  and  fetch  it  your- 
self, lazybones!  .  .  ." 

But  Erik  wanted  to  go;  and  there  came  a  great 
struggle.  Wanda  hugged  the  little  fellow  tight  in 
her  arms;  Karl  joined  in:  there  was  a  general 
romp  and  Wanda,  laughing,  fell  sideways  to  the 
ground. 

"  But,  Wanda !  "  said  Sofie,  reprovingly. 

Valerie  stood  up  and  went  to  Herman: 

"'With  all  this,  you're  not  seeing  my  clouds,  you 
lazy  boy.  I  suppose  I  must  take  pity  on  you. 
Look.  .  .  ." 

Herman  now  suddenly  drew  himself  up  and  took 
the  album: 


172  MAJESTY 

"  How  funny !  "  he  said.  "  Yellow  and  white 
and  violet  and  pink.  All  sunsets!  " 

"  And  sunrises.  I  dare  say  I  see  more  of  them 
than  you  do  1  " 

4  The  things  you  see  in  clouds,  Valerie  I  It's 
astonishing.  How  one  person  differs  from  another ! 
I  should  never  take  it  into  my  head  to  go  and  sketch 
clouds.  You  ought  to  come  for  a  cruise  with  me 
one  day;  then  you  could  make  whole  collections  of 
clouds." 

'  Why  didn't  you  propose  that  earlier?  "  said 
Valerie,  jestingly.  *  Then  I  might  have  joined 
you  and  Xara." 

"  But  where  is  Othomar?  "  said  Herman. 

Valerie  said  that  she  did  not  know.  .  .  . 

Herman  sipped  his  sherry-cobbler.  Wanda 
wanted  a  taste,  but  Herman  refused  and  told  her  to 
ring  for  a  glass  for  herself.  Wanda  insisted;  he 
seized  her  by  the  wrists. 

"But  Wanda!"  Sofie  repeated,  reprovingly, 
languidly,  drawing  her  hand  over  her  forehead  and 
laying  down  her  brush. 

Wanda  laughed  gaily: 

"  But  Wanda !  "  she  mimicked. 

And  they  all  laughed  at  Sofie,  including  Sofie  her- 
self: 

"  Did  I  speak  like  that  ?  "  she  asked,  with  her 
languid  voice.  "I  don't  know:  I  get  so  sleepy 
here,  so  lazy.  .  .  ." 

They  were  all  making  fun  of  Sofie,  when  voices 
sounded  from  the  hall,  shrill,  old  voices.  It  was  the 
two  dowagers,  with  Othomar;  the  old  ladies  were 
talking  in  a  courtly,  mincing  way  to  the  young  prince, 


MAJESTY  173 

who  brought  them  chairs.  The  aunts  had  had  a 
siesta  after  lunch;  they  now  made  their  reappear- 
ance, with  tapestrywork  in  large  reticules.  All 
greeted  them  with  great  respect,  beneath  which 
lurked  a  spark  of  mischief. 

"  Pardon,  lieber  Herzog"  murmured  old  Princess 
Elsa,  the  older  of  the  two,  "  I  would  rather  have 
that  little  chair.  .  .  ." 

Princess  Marianne  also  wanted  a  small,  straight 
chair;  the  old  ladies  thanked  Othomar  with  an 
obeisance  for  his  gallantry,  sat  down  stiffly  and 
began  their  embroidery:  great  coats-of-arms  for 
chair-backs.  They  were  very  stately,  with  clear-cut 
but  wrinkled  faces,  grey  tours  and  black  lace  caps; 
they  wore  crackling  watered-silk  gowns,  of  old- 
fashioned  cut.  Now  and  then  they  exchanged  a 
quick,  sharp  word,  with  a  sudden  crackling^  move- 
ment of  their  sharp  cockatoo-profiles;  they  gazed 
thoughtfully  for  a  moment  out  to  sea,  as  though 
they  were  bound  to  see  something  important  arriv- 
ing out  of  the  distance;  then  they  resumed  their 
work.  Their  old-fashioned,  stately,  tight-laced, 
shrivelled  figures  formed  a  strange  contrast  with  the 
easiness  of  the  young  people  in  their  simple  serge 
summer  suits:  they  made  Princess  Wanda's  tangled 
hair  and  rumpled  blouse  look  perfectly  disrepu- 
table. 

A  third  old  lady  came  sailing  up;  she  seemed  as 
though  she  were  related  to  the  two  dowagers,  but 
was  actually  Countess  von  Altenburg,  who  used 
to  be  mistress  of  the  household  to  Princess  Elsa. 
Behind  her  were  two  footmen,  carrying  trays  with 
coffee  and  pastry,  the  old  princesses'  gouter.  The 


174  MAJESTY 

countess  made  a  stately  curtsey  before  the  young 
princes. 

*  The  territory  is  occupied,"  whispered  Herman 
to  Valerie. 

They  had  all  sat  down  again  and  among  them- 
selves were  teasing  Othomar  with  his  three  Fates, 
as  they  called  them,  unheard  by  the  aunts  or  the 
countess,  who  was -rather  deaf.  A  noisy  babel  of 
tongues  ensued:  the  aunts  spoke  German  and 
screamed,  to  make  themselves  heard,  something 
about  the  calmness  of  the  sea  into  the  poor  old 
ears  of  the  countess,  who  poured  out  the  coffee  and 
nodded  that  she  understood.  The  younger  princes 
talked  English  for  the  most  part;  Herman  some- 
times spoke  a  word  or  two  of  Liparian  to  Othomar; 
and  the  children,  who  had  gone  to  play  on  a  lower 
terrace,  chattered  noisily  in  Gothlandic  and  French 
indifferently. 

The  footmen  had  brought  out  afternoon  tea  and 
placed  it  before  Princess  Sofie,  when  a  lady-in-wait- 
ing appeared.  She  bowed  to  the  young  crown- 
princess  and  said,  in  Gothlandic: 

"  Her  majesty  requests  your  royal  highness  to 
come  to  her  in  the  small  drawing-room." 

"  Mamma  has  sent  for  me,"  said  Princess  Sofie, 
in  English,  rising  from  her  chair.  "  Wanda,  will 
you  pour  out  the  tea?  Children,  will  you  go  up- 
stairs and  get  dressed?  Wanda,  tell  them  again, 
will  you?  " 

The  crown-princess  went  through  the  hall,  a  great, 
round,  dome-shaped  apartment,  full  of  stags'  antlers, 
elks'  heads,  hunting-trophies,  and  then  up  a  stair- 
case. In  the  queen's  anteroom  the  footman  opened 


MAJESTY  175 

the  door  for  her.  Queen  Olga  was  sitting  alone; 
she  was  some  years  older  than  her  sister,  the  Em- 
press of  Liparia,  taller  and  more  heavily  built;  her 
features,  however,  had  much  in  common  with  Eliza- 
beth's, but  were  more  filled  out. 

"  Sofie,"  she  at  once  began,  in  German,  "  I  have 
had  a  letter  from  Sigismundingen.  .  .  ." 

The  Duchess  of  Wendeholm  had  sat  down : 

"Anything  to  do  with  Valerie?"  she  asked,  in 
alarm. 

"  Yes,"  the  queen  said,  with  a  reflective  glance. 
"Poor  child!  .  .  ." 

"  But  what  is  it,  Mamma?  " 

"  There,  read  for  yourself.   .   .   ." 

The  queen  handed  the  letter  to  her  daughter-in- 
law,  who  read  it  hurriedly.  The  letter  was  from 
the  Archduchess  Eudoxie,  Valerie's  mother,  written 
with  a  feverish,  excited  hand,  and  said,  in  phrases 
which  tried  to  seem  indifferent  but  which  betrayed  a 
great  satisfaction,  that  Prince  Leopold  of  Lohe- 
Obkowitz  was  at  Nice  with  Estelle  Desvaux,  the 
well-known  actress,  that  he  was  proposing  to  resign 
his  titular  rights  in  favour  of  his  younger  brother 
and  that  he  would  then  marry  his  mistress.  The 
letter  requested  the  queen  or  the  crown-princess  to 
tell  this  to  Valerie,  in  the  hope  that  it  would  not 
prove  too  great  a  shock  to  her.  Further,  the  letter 
ended  with  violent  attacks  upon  Prince  Leopold, 
who  had  caused  such  a  scandal,  but  at  the  same 
time  with  manifest  expressions  of  delight  that  now 
perhaps  Valerie  would  no  longer  dream  of  becoming 
the  lady  of  a  domain  measuring  six  yards  square! 
The  archduke  added  a  postscript  to  say  that  this  was 


1 76  MAJESTY 

not  a  vague  report  but  a  certainty  and  that  Prince 
Leopold  himself  had  told  it  to  their  own  relations  at 
Nice,  who  had  written  to  Sigismundingen. 

"  Has  Valerie  ever  spoken  to  you  about  Prince 
Lohe?  "  asked  the  queen. 

"  Only  once  in  a  way,  mamma,"  replied  the 
Duchess  of  Wendeholm,  handing  back  the  letter. 
"  But  we  all  know  well  enough  that  this  news  will 
be  a  great  blow  to  her.  Is  she  not  in  the  least 
prepared  for  it?  " 

"  Probably  not :  you  see,  we  had  none  of  us  heard 
or  read  anything  about  it !  Shall  I  tell  her  ?  Poor 
child!  .  .  ." 

"  Shall  I  do  so,  mamma  ?  As  I  told  you,  Valerie 
has  spoken  to  me.  .  .  ." 

'  Very  well,  you  do  it.  .  .  ." 

The  duchess  reflected,  looked  at  the  clock: 

"  It  is  so  late  now:  I'll  tell  her  after  dinner;  we 
are  none  of  us  dressed  yet.  .  .  .  What  do  you 
think?" 

'*  Very  well  then,  after  dinner.  .  .  ." 

The  crown-princess  went  out:  it  was  time  to 
hurry  and  dress.  At  seven  o'clock  a  loud,  long  bell 
sounded.  They  assembled  in  the  hall;  the  dining- 
room  looked  out  with  its  large  bow-windows  upon 
the  pine-forest.  It  was  a  long  table :  King  Siegfried, 
a  hale  old  sovereign  with  a  full,  grey  beard;  Queen 
Olga;  the  Crown-prince  Gunther,  tall,  fair,  two-and- 
thirty;  Princess  Sofie  and  her  children;  Othomar, 
sitting  between  his  aunt  and  Valerie;  Herman  and 
Wanda;  Olaf  and  Christofel;  the  two  dowagers 
with  Countess  von  Altenburg;  equerries,  ladies-in- 


MAJESTY  17? 

waiting,    chamberlains,    Princess    Elizabeth's    gov- 
erness, the  little  princes'  tutors.   .   .  . 

The  conversation  was  cheerful  and  unconstrained. 
The  ladies  wore  simple  evening-frocks;  the  king 
was  in  dress-clothes,  the  younger  princes  and  equer- 
ries in  dinner-jackets.  The  young  princesses  wore 
light  summer  dresses  of  white  serge  or  pink  mous- 
seline-de-laine;  they  had  stuck  a  flower  or  two  from 
the  conservatory  into  their  waist-bands. 

Valerie  talked  merrily;  Herman  once  more  teased 
her  about  her  cloud-sketches,  but  Othomar  said  that 
he  admired  them  very  much.  Queen  Olga  and 
Princess  Sofie  exchanged  a  glance  and  were  quieter 
than  the  others.  The  king  also  looked  very 
thoughtfully  at  the  young  people.  After  dinner 
the  family  dispersed ;  the  crown-prince  and  Herman 
went  for  a  row  on  the  sea,  with  the  younger  princes 
and  the  children,  in  two  boats.  Wanda  and  Valerie, 
their  arms  wound  around  each  other's  waists, 
strolled  up  and  down  along  the  front-terrace;  the 
awning  was  already  drawn  up  for  the  night.  The 
sea  was  still  blue,  the  sky  pearl-grey  and  no  longer 
so  bright;  above  the  horizon  the  sun  still  burnt 
ragged  rents  in  the  widely  scattered  clouds. 

The  girls  strolled  about,  laughed,  looked  at  the 
two  little  boats  on  the  sea  and  waved  to  them. 
Very  far  away,  a  steamer  passed,  finely  outlined, 
with  a  dirty  little  ribbon  of  smoke.  The  young 
princes  shouted,  "  Hurrah!  Hurrah!  "  and  hoisted 
their  little  flag. 

"  Do  look  at  those  papers  of  Herman's !  "  said 
Valerie.  "  Aunt  Olga  hates  that  untidiness.  .  .  ." 


i78  MAJESTY 

She  pointed  to  all  the  magazines  and  newspapers 
which  the  servants  had  forgotten  to  clear  away. 
They  lay  over  the  long  wicker  chair,  on  the  table 
and  on  the  ground. 

"  Shall  I  ring  to  have  them  cleared  away?  "  asked 
Wanda. 

"  Oh,  never  mind!  "  said  Valerie. 

She  herself  picked  up  one  or  two  papers,  folded 
them,  put  them  together;  Wanda  again  waved  to 
the  boats  with  her  handkerchief. 

"My  God!"  she  suddenly  heard  Valerie  mur- 
mur, faintly. 

She  looked  round:  the  young  archduchess  had 
turned  pale  and  sunk  into  a  chair.  She  had  dropped 
the  papers  again;  one  of  them  she  held  tight,  crush- 
ing it  convulsively;  she  looked  down  at  it  with  eyes 
vacant  with  terror: 

"  It's  not  true,"  she  stammered.  "  They  always 
lie.  .  .  .  They  lie!" 

"  What  is  it,  Valerie?  "  cried  Wanda,  frightened. 

At  this  moment  the  Duchess  of  Wendeholm  came 
out  through  the  hall: 

"Valerie!"  she  called. 

The  girl  did  not  hear.     The  duchess  came  nearer: 

"  Valerie !  "  she  repeated.  "  Could  I  talk  to  you 
for  a  moment,  alone?  " 

The  archduchess  raised  her  pale  little  face.  She 
seemed  not  to  hear,  not  to  understand. 

"  My  God !  "  whispered  the  duchers  to  Wanda. 
"  Does  she  know?  " 

"What?"  asked  Wanda. 

But  a  footman  also  came  through  the  hall;  he 
carried  a  silver  tray  with  letters.  There  were  a 


MAJESTY  i?9 

couple  of  letters  for  the  duchess;  he  presented  them 
to  her  first;  then  one  to  Valerie.  In  spite  of  her 
blurred  eyes,  the  archduchess  seemed  to  see  the 
letter;  she  snatched  at  it  greedily.  The  man  with- 
drew. 

"  O  .  .  .  God !  .  .  ."  she  stammered  at  last. 

She  pulled  the  letter  from  the  envelope,  half- 
tearing  it  in  her  eagerness,  and  read  with  crazy 
eyes.  Sofie  and  Wanda  looked  at  her  in  dismay. 

"O  .  .  .  God!"  screamed  the  archduchess  in 
agony.  "  It's  true  .  .  .  it's  true  .  .  .  it's  true ! 
.  .  .  Oh!  .  .  ." 

She  rose,  trembling,  looked  about  her  with  wild 
eyes  and  threw  herself  madly  into  the  duchess'  arms. 
A  loud  sob  burst  from  her  throat,  as  though  a 
pistol-shot  had  gone  through  her  heart. 

"He  writes  it  to  me  himself!"  she  cried  out. 
"Himself!  It's  true  what  the  paper  says.  .  .  . 
Oh!  .  .  ." 

And  she  broke  down,  with  her  head  on  Sofie's 
shoulder.  Sofie  led  her  back  into  the  hall;  Valerie 
allowed  herself  to  be  dragged  along  like  a  child. 
Wanda  followed,  crying,  wringing  her  hands,  with- 
out knowing  why.  From  the  boats,  which  were 
now  very  far  away,  the  young  princes  waved  once 
more;  little  Princess  Elizabeth  even  tried  to  call  out 
something;  she  could  not  understand  why  Wanda 
and  Valerie  were  such  muffs  as  not  to  wave  back. 

The  sun  sank  on  the  horizon;  the  glowing  clouds 
were  all  masked  in  little  frothy,  gold-rose  mists  with 
shining  edges;  but  evening  fell,  the  sky  grew  dark: 
one  by  one  the  little  pink  clouds  melted  away;  still 
one  last  cloud,  as  though  with  two  wings  formed  of 


180  MAJESTY 

the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  flickered  up  softly, 
as  if  to  fly,  and  then  suddenly  sank,  with  broken 
wings,  into  the  violet  dusk.  The  first  stars  twinkled, 
brightly  visible. 


Next  morning,  very  early,  at  half-past  five,  the 
Archduchess  Valerie  climbed  down  the  terraces  of 
Altseeborgen.  She  had  merely  told  her  maid  that 
she  would  be  back  in  time  for  breakfast,  which  the 
family  took  together.  Resolutely,  as  though  im- 
pulsively, she  descended  terrace  after  terrace.  She 
met  nobody  but  a  couple  of  servants  and  sentries. 
She  walked  along  the  bottom  terrace  to  the  sea; 
there  was  a  little  square  harbour,  cut  out  of  the 
granite,  where  the  rowing-  and  sailing-boats  lay 
moored  in  a  boat-house.  She  chose  a  long,  narrow 
gig  and  unhooked  it  from  its  iron  chain.  She  took 
her  seat  adroitly  and  grasped  the  sculls :  a  few  short 
strokes  took  her  clear  of  the  little  harbour  and  out 
to  sea. 

A  south-westerly  wind  was  blowing  over  the  sea. 
The  water  was  strangely  grey,  as  though  it  were 
mirroring  in  its  oval  the  uncertain  sky  above:  a 
dull-white  sky  in  which  hung  dirty  shreds  of  clouds 
blown  asunder.  The  horizon  was  not  visible;  light 
mists  floated  over  it,  blotting  out  the  division  be- 
tween sea  and  sky  with  smeared  tints.  The  wind 
blew  up  strongly. 

Valerie  removed  her  little  sailor-hat;  and  her 
hair  blew  across  her  face.  She  had  intended  to 


MAJESTY  181 

row  to  the  fishing-village,  but  she  at  once  felt  that 
it  was  beyond  her  strength  to  work  up  against  the 
wind.  So  she  let  herself  go  with  the  wind.  For 
a  moment  she  thought  of  the  weather,  the  wind, 
the  sky;  then  she  cast  aside  all  thought.  She  pulled 
sturdily  at  the  sculls. 

Though  the  sea  was  comparatively  calm,  the  boat 
was  constantly  swinging  over  the  smooth  back  of  a 
wave  and  then  sinking  down  again.  Splashes  of 
spray  flew  up.  When  Valerie,  after  a  little  while, 
looked  round,  she  was  a  trifle  startled  to  see  Altsee- 
borgen  receding  so  far  from  her.  She  hesitated  once 
more,  but  soon  let  herself  go  again.  .  .  . 

On  leaving  the  castle,  she  had  had  no  thought, 
only  an  impulse  to  act.  Now,  with  her  very  action, 
thought  rose  up  again  within  her,  as  though  roused 
from  its  lethargy  by  the  wind.  Valerie's  eyes  stared 
before  her,  wide  and  burning,  without  tears. 

It  was  true,  it  was  real.  This  was  the  wheel  con- 
tinually revolving  in  her  thoughts.  It  was  true,  it 
was  real.  It  was  in  the  papers  which  Herman  had 
been  skimming  through  for  hours;  Sofie  had  told 
her;  his  own  letter  informed  her  of  it. 

She  no  longer  had  that  letter,  it  was  destroyed. 
But  every  word  was  still  branded  on  her  imagina- 
tion. 

It  was  his  letter,  written  in  his  own  words,  in  his 
style.  How  she  had  once  worshipped  his  every 
word!  But  these  words,  were  they  indeed  his? 
Did  he  write  like  that?  Could  she  picture  to  her- 
self that  he  would  ever  speak  thus  to  her? 

He  would  not  like  to  make  her  unhappy  by  lov- 
ing her  against  the  wish  of  her  parents,  her  imperial 


1 82  MAJESTY 

relations.  It  was  true,  of  course,  that  he  was  not 
her  equal  in  birth.  His  house  was  of  old  nobility, 
but  nothing  more.  She  was  of  the  blood  royal  and 
imperial.  He  was  grateful  to  her  for  stooping  to 
him  and  wishing  to  raise  him  to  her  level.  But  it 
was  not  right  to  do  this.  The  traditions  of  man- 
kind should  be  inviolate :  it  was  not  right,  especially 
for  them,  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  to  act  against 
tradition.  They  should  be  grateful  for  the  love 
which  had  brought  happiness  to  their  souls,  but  they 
must  not  expect  more.  It  was  not  the  wish  of  Vi- 
enna that  they  should  love  each  other.  Would  he 
ever  be  able  to  make  her  entirely  happy,  would  she, 
if  they  were  married  and  retired  with  their  love  to 
a  foreign  country,  never  look  back  with  yearning  and 
feel  homesick  for  the  splendour  from  which  he  had 
dragged  her  down?  For,  if  they  married,  he  would 
be  still  less  her  equal  than  he  was  before,  thanks 
to  his  emperor's  disfavour.  No,  no,  it  could  not 
be.  They  must  part.  They  were  not  born  for 
each  other.  For  a  short  moment  they  had  shared 
the  glorious  illusion  that  they  were  indeed  born  for 
each  other;  that  was  all.  He  would  be  grateful  to 
her  for  that  memory  all  his  life  long. 

With  a  breaking  heart  he  took  leave  of  her: 
farewell,  farewell!  It  was  all  over:  his  proud 
career,  his  life,  his  all.  He  begged  her  to  forgive 
him.  He  knew  that  he  was  too  weak  to  love  her 
against  the  will  of  his  sovereign.  And  for  that  he 
begged  her  to  forgive  him.  She  would  hear  a 
woman's  name  mentioned  in  connection  with  his 
own:  for  this  also  he  begged  her  pardon.  He  did 


MAJESTY  183 

not  love  that  woman,  but  she  was  willing  to  console 
him  in  his  grief.  .  .  . 

The  wind  had  suddenly  increased  in  violence,  with 
heavy,  regular  blasts.  The  sky  was  dark  overhead. 
The  waves  rolled  more  wildly  against  the  boat  and 
swung  it  up  on  their  backs  as  it  were  on  the  backs 
of  sleek  sea-monsters.  The  spray  had  wetted 
Valerie.  She  looked  round.  Altseeborgen  lay  very 
far  away,  scarcely  within  sight;  she  could  just  see 
the  flag  defined  against  the  sky  like  a  tiny  ribbon. 

"  I  must  be  mad,"  she  thought.  "  Where  am  I 
going  to?  .  .  .  I  must  turn  back.  .  .  ." 

But  it  was  difficult  to  bring  the  boat  round. 
Each  time  the  wind  beat  it  off  again  and  drove  it 
farther.  Despair  came  upon  Valerie,  body  and 
soul,  moral  and  physical  despair. 

"  Well,  let  it  be,"  she  thought. 

She  let  the  sculls  drop,  drifted  farther  away, 
away.  And  why  not?  Why  should  she  not  let 
herself  drift  away?  Without  him,  without  him 
.  .  .  she  could  not  live!  Her  happiness  was 
ruined;  what  was  life  without  happiness?  For  she 
wanted  happiness,  it  was  essential  to  her.  .  .  . 

She  sat  half-huddled  in  the  boat.  The  sculls 
flapped  against  the  sides.  A  wave  broke  over  her. 
Her  eyes  stared  burning  before  her,  into  the  di- 
stance. 

A  second  wave  broke;  her  feet  were  wet  through. 
She  slowly  drew  herself  up,  looked  at  the  angry 
sea,  at  the  lowering  sky.  Then  she  grasped  the 
sculls  again,  with  a  sigh  of  pain : 

"  Come  on !  "  she  thought. 


1 84  MAJESTY 

She  rose  higher  and  sank  lower.  But  with  a 
frantic  effort  she  made  the  boat  turn: 

"  It  shall!  "  she  bit  out  between  her  teeth. 

She  kept  the  boat's  head  to  the  wind  and  began 
to  row.  It  shall.  She  wrinkled  her  forehead, 
gnashed  her  jaws,  grated  her  teeth  together.  She 
felt  her  muscles  straining.  And  she  rowed  on,  up 
against  the  wind.  With  her  whole  body  she  strug- 
gled up  against  the  stiff  breeze.  It  shall.  It  must. 
And  she  grew  accustomed  to  the  exertion ;  she  rowed 
on  mechanically.  So  much  accustomed  did  she  grow 
to  it  that  she  began  to  sob  as  she  rowed.  .  .  . 

O  God,  how  she  had  loved  him,  with  all  her 
soul!  Why?  Could  she  tell?  Oh,  if  he  had  only 
been  a  little  stronger,  she  would  have  been  so  too! 
What  mattered  to  them  the  disfavour  of  her  uncle 
the  emperor,  so  long  as  they  loved  each  other? 
What  the  fury  of  their  parents,  so  long  as  they 
loved  each  other?  What  did  they  care  for  all 
Europe,  so  long  as  they  cared  for  each  other?  No- 
thing, nothing  at  all.  ...  If  he  had  only  dared  to 
grasp  happiness  for  them,  when  it  fluttered  before 
them,  as  it  flutters  only  once  before  mortal  men ! 
But  he  had  not  dared,  he  felt  himself  too  weak  to 
risk  that  grasp,  he  acknowledged  it  himself.  .  .  . 
And  now  .  .  .  now  it  was  over,  over,  over.  .  .  . 

As  she  sobbed  she  rowed  on.  Her  arms  seemed 
to  swell,  to  burst  asunder.  A  few  thick  drops  of 
rain  fell.  What  was  she  really  rowing  on  for? 
The  sea  meant  death,  release  from  life,  oblivion, 
the  extinction  of  scorching  pain.  Then  why  did  she 
row  on? 


MAJESTY  185 

"  O  God,  I  don't  know!"  she  answered  herself 
aloud.  "  But  I  must !  I  must !  .  .  ." 

And  with  successive  jerks  of  her  strong  imperial 
body  she  worked  herself  back,  towards  life.  .  .  . 

But  at  Altseeborgen  they  were  in  great  alarm. 
It  was  three  hours  since  Valerie  had  left  the  castle. 
The  maid  was  unable  to  say  more  than  that  her 
highness  had  assured  her  she  would  be  back  to 
breakfast.  The  sentries  had  seen  her  go  down  the 
terraces,  but  had  paid  no  further  heed  to  the  di- 
rection which  her  highness  had  taken.  They 
thought  it  was  towards  the  woods,  but  they  were 
not  sure.  .  .  . 

Every  minute  the  alarm  increased;  no  suspicion 
was  uttered,  but  they  all  read  it  in  one  another's 
eyes.  King  Siegfried  ordered  that  they  should 
themselves  set  out  and  search  quietly,  so  as  to  at- 
tract no  attention  among  the  household  and  the 
people  of  the  village.  There  could  be  no  question 
of  her  having  lost  her  way:  the  pine-woods  were  not 
extensive  and  Valerie  knew  Altseeborgen  well.  And 
there  was  nothing  besides  the  woods,  the  beach  and 
the  village. 

The  king  and  the  crown-prince  themselves  went 
into  the  woods,  with  an  equerry.  Herman  and  his 
younger  brother  Olaf  went  into  the  village,  to  the 
left;  Othomar  and  Christofel  along  the  sea,  to  the 
right.  The  queen  remained  behind  with  the  prin- 
cesses, in  palpitating  uncertainty.  For  all  their  ef- 
forts to  bear  up  and  to  eat  their  breakfasts,  a 
sort  of  rumour  had  already  spread  through  the 
castle. 


1 86  MAJESTY 

Othomar  had  gone  with  Christofel  along  the 
rocky  shore;  the  rain  began  to  come  down,  in  hard, 
thick  drops. 

"  What  are  we  really  looking  for  here?  "  asked 
Othomar,  helplessly. 

"  Perhaps  she  has  thrown  herself  into  the  sea !  " 
answered  the  young  prince. 

And  for  the  first  time  of  his  life,  he  felt  afraid  of 
those  depths,  which  meant  death.  Unconsciously 
they  went  on,  on,  on.  .  .  . 

"  Let's  go  back,"  said  Othomar. 

Nevertheless  they  continued  to  go  on;  they  could 
not  give  in.  ... 

Then  a  scream  sounded  over  the  water:  they 
started,  but  at  first  saw  nothing. 

"  Did  you  hear?  "  asked  Christofel,  turning  pale, 
thinking  of  ghostly  legends  of  the  sea. 

"  A  sea-mew,  I  expect,"  said  Othomar,  listening, 
however. 

The  scream  was  repeated. 

"There,  don't  you  see  something?"  asked 
Christofel,  pointing. 

He  pointed  to  a  long  streak  that  came  surging 
over  the  water. 

Othomar  shook  his  head: 

"  No,  that's  impossible !  "  he  said.  "  It's  a 
fisher-lad." 

"No,  no,  it's  a  rowing-boat!"  cried  Christofel. 

They  said  nothing  more,  they  ran  along.  The 
streak  became  plainer:  a  gig;  the  scream  rang  out 
again,  piercingly. 

"My  God!  .  .  .  Valerie!  "  shouted  Othomar. 

She  called  back  a   few  words;   he   only  partly 


MAJESTY  187 

understood  them.  She  was  rowing  not  far  from 
the  shore  towards  the  castle.  Othomar  took  off  his 
coat,  his  shoes,  his  socks,  turned  up  his  trousers,  his 
shirt-sleeves. 

4  Take  those  with  you,"  he  cried  to  Christofel, 
"  and  go  back  to  the  castle,  tell  them.  .  .  ." 

He  ran  on  his  bare  feet  over  the  rocks  and 
into  the  sea,  flung  himself  into  the  water,  swam  out 
to  the  boat.  It  was  very  difficult  for  him  to  climb 
into  the  little  gig  without  capsizing  it.  It  lurched 
madly  to  right  and  left;  however,  with  a  single, 
quick,  light  movement,  Othomar  managed  to  jump 
in. 

"  I  give  up.  .  .  ."  said  Valerie,  faintly. 

She  let  go  the  sculls;  he  seized  them  and  rowed 
on.  For  an  instant  she  fell  against  him,  but  then 
sat  up  straight,  so  as  not  to  hamper  him. 


The  young  archduchess  did  not  appear  at  lunch- 
eon; she  was  asleep.  Not  long  before  dinner  — 
it  was  raining  and  the  queen  was  taking  tea  in  the 
hall  with  the  princesses,  the  aunts,  the  children  — 
she  appeared.  She  looked  rather  pale;  her  face  was 
a  little  drawn,  her  eyes  strangely  wide  and  burning. 
She  was  wearing  a  simple  summer  costume  of  some 
soft,  pale-lilac  material,  with  two  white  ribbons  tied 
round  her  waist;  the  colour  went  well  with  her 
strange  hair,  which  now  looked  brown  and  then 
again  seemed  auburn.  The  queen  held  out  her  hand 
to  Valerie,  shook  her  head  and  said: 


1 88  MAJESTY 

"  You  naughty  girl!     How  you  frightened  us!  " 

Valerie  kissed  the  queen  on  the  forehead: 

"  Forgive  me,  aunt.  The .  wind  was  so  strong, 
I  could  hardly  make  way  against  it.  I  oughtn't  to 
have  gone.  But  I  felt  a  need  .  .  .  for  movement." 

The  queen  looked  at  her  anxiously: 

"  How  are  you  feeling  now?  " 

"Oh,  very  well,  aunt!  Rather  stiff;  and  a  little 
headache.  It's  nothing.  Only  my  hands  are  ter- 
ribly blistered:  just  look.  .  .  ." 

And  she  laughed. 

The  old  aunts  asked  for  copious  details  of  what 
had  happened:  it  was  difficult  to  make  them  under- 
stand. Wanda  sat  down  between  the  two  of  them, 
told  them  the  story;  their  sharp  cockatoo-profiles 
kept  on  wagging  up  and  down  at  Wanda,  in  aston- 
ishment. The  aunts  pressed  their  hands  to  their 
hearts  and  looked  at  Valerie  with  terror  in  their 
eyes;  she  smiled  to  them  pleasantly.  When 
Countess  von  Altenburg  appeared,  the  aunts  took 
the  old  mistress  of  the  household  between  them  and 
in  their  turn  told  her  the  story,  screeching  it  into 
the  countess'  poor  old  ears.  King  Siegfried  entered; 
he  went  up  to  Valerie,  who  rose,  took  her  head  in  his 
hands,  looked  at  her  and  shook  his  grey  head; 
nevertheless  he  smiled.  Then  he  looked  at  his  sis- 
ters; he  was  always  amused  at  them;  they  were  still 
in  the  middle  of  their  story  to  the  countess  and  kept 
on  taking  the  words  out  of  each  other's  mouths. 

"  Come,  it  was  not  so  dreadful  as  all  that !  "  said 
the  king,  interrupting  them.  "  It's  very  nice  to 
go  rowing  like  that,  once  in  a  way,  and  an  excellent 


MAJESTY  189 

remedy  for  a  sick-headache.  You  ought  to  try  it, 
Elsa,  when  you  have  one  of  yours." 

The  old  princess  looked  at  him  with  a  sugary 
smile;  she  never  knew  whether  her  brother  meant 
a  remark  of  this  kind  or  not.  She  shook  her  stately 
head  slowly  from  side  to  side: 

"  No,  lieber  Siegfried,  that  is  more  than  we  can 
do.  Unsere  Hebe  Erzherzogin  is  still  a  young 
thing!  .  .  ." 

Othomar,  Gunther  and  Herman  entered:  they 
had  been  playing  billiards;  the  young  princes  fol- 
lowed them.  Valerie  gave  a  little  shiver,  rose  and 
went  up  to  Othomar: 

"  I  thank  you,  Xara,"  she  said.  "  I  thank  you 
a  thousand,  thousand  times!" 

"  But  what  for?  "  replied  Othomar,  simply.  [t  I 
did  no  more  than  row  you  a  bit  of  the  way  back. 
There  was  no  danger.  For,  if  you  had  been  too 
tired  to  go  on  rowing,  you  could  always  have  jumped 
into  the  sea  and  swum  ashore.  You're  a  strong 
swimmer.  You  would  only  have  lost  the  boat." 

She  looked  at  him: 

"  That's  true,"  she  said.  "  But  I  never  thought 
of  it.  I  was  .  .  .  bewildered  perhaps.  I  should 
not  have  done  that;  I  had  a  fixed  idea  that  I  had 
to  row  back.  If  I  hadn't  been  able  to  keep  on 
rowing,  I  should  certainly  .  .  .  Don't  refuse  my 
thanks,  I  beg  of  you :  accept  them." 

She  put  out  her  hand;  he  pressed  it.  He  looked 
up  at  her  with  quiet  surprise  and  failed  to  under- 
stand her.  He  did  not  doubt  but  that  she  had  that 
morning  left  the  castle  with  the  intention  of  com- 


190  MAJESTY 

mitting  suicide.  Had  she  felt  remorse  on  the  water, 
or  had  she  not  dared?  Did  she  want  to  live  on  and 
did  she  therefore  turn  back?  Was  she  so  shallow 
that  she  had  already  recovered  from  the  great 
grief  which  had  crushed  her  the  night  before?  Did 
she  realize  that  life  rolls  with  indifferent  chariot- 
wheels  over  everything,  whether  joy  or  pain,  that  is 
part  of  ourselves  and  that  it  is  best  to  care  for  no- 
thing and  also  to  feel  nothing?  What  of  all  this 
applied  to  her?  He  was  unable  to  fathom  it. 
And  once  more  he  saw  himself  standing  perplexed 
before  the  question  of  love !  What  was  this  feeling 
worth,  if  it  weighed  so  little  in  a  woman's  heart? 
How  much  did  it  weigh  with  him  for  Alexa? 
What  was  it  then?  ...  Or  was  it  something  .  .  . 
something  quite  different? 

At  dinner  Valerie  talked  as  usual  and  he  continued 
not  to  understand  her.  It  irritated  him,  his  want 
of  penetration  of  the  human  heart:  how  could  he 
develop  it?  A  future  ruler  ought  to  be  able  to  see 
things  at  a  glance.  .  .  .  And  suddenly,  perhaps 
merely  because  of  his  desire  for  human  knowledge, 
the  thought  arose  within  him  that  she  was  concealing 
her  emotions,  that  perhaps  she  was  still  suffering 
intensely,  but  that  she  was  pretending  and  bearing 
up:  was  she  not  a  princess  of  the  blood?  They  all 
learnt  that,  they  of  the  blood,  to  pretend,  to  bear 
up !  It  was  bred  in  their  bones.  He  looked  at  her 
askance,  as  he  sat  next  to  her:  she  was  quietly  talk- 
ing across  him  to  the  queen.  He  did  not  know 
whether  he  had  guessed  right  and  he  still  hesitated 
between  the  two  thoughts:  was  she  bearing  up,  or 
was  she  shallow  ?  But  yet  he  was  happy  at  being  able 


MAJESTY  191 

to  hesitate  about  her  and  to  refute  that  first  suspicion 
of  shallowness  by  his  second  thought.  He  was 
happy  in  this,  not  solely  because  of  Valerie,  that 
she  should  be  better  than  he  had  thought  at  first; 
he  was  happy  especially  for  the  general  conclusion 
which  he  was  able  to  draw:  that  a  person  is  mostly 
better,  thinks  more  deeply,  cherishes  nobler  feelings 
than  he  allows  to  appear  in  the  everyday  common- 
places of  life,  which  compel  him  to  occupy  himself 
with  momentary  trifles  and  phrases.  A  delicate 
satisfaction  took  possession  of  him  that  he  had 
thought  this  out  so,  a  contentment  that  he  had 
discovered  something  beautiful  in  life :  a  beautiful 
secret.  Everybody  knew  it  perhaps,  but  nobody  let 
it  be  perceived.  Oh  yes,  people  were  good;  the 
world  was  good,  in  its  essence!  Only  a  strange 
mystery  compelled  it  to  seem  different,  a  strange 
tyranny  of  the  universal  order  of  things. 

He  glanced  around  the  long  table.  Every  face 
wore  a  look  of  kindness  and  sympathy.  He  was 
attached  to  his  uncle  so  calm,  gentle  and  strong, 
with  the  seeming  dogged  silence  of  his  Norse 
character,  with  his  tranquil  smile  and  now  and 
then  a  little  gleam  of  fun,  aimed  especially  at 
the  old  aunts,  but  also  at  the  children  and  even  at 
the  equerries,  the  ladies-in-waiting.  He  knew  that 
his  uncle  was  a  thinker,  a  philosopher;  he  would 
have  liked  to  have  a  long  discussion  with  him  on 
points  of  philosophy.  He  was  fond  also  of  his 
aunt,  a  first-rate  queen:  what  a  lot  she  did  for  her 
country,  what  a  number  of  charities  she  called  into 
existence;  a  first-rate  mother:  how  sensibly  she  per- 
formed her  difficult  task,  the  bringing  up  of  royal 


i92  MAJESTY 

children!  She  was  more  beloved  in  her  country 
than  was  his  mother,  whom  yet  he  adored,  in  hers; 
she  had  more  tact,  less  fear,  less  haughtiness  also 
towards  the  crowd.  It  should  perhaps  have  been 
the  other  way  about:  his  mother  queen  here,  her 
sister  empress  yonder.  .  .  . 

And  the  crown-prince,  with  his  simple  manli- 
ness; Herman,  with  his  joviality;  the  younger 
brothers,  with  their  vigorous,  boyish  chaff :  how  fond 
he  was  of  them!  Sofie,  Wanda,  the  children: 
how  he  liked  them  all!  He  even  liked  the  aunts 
and  the  devoted  old  mistress  of  the  household.  Oh, 
the  world  was  good,  people  were  good!  And 
Valerie  was  not  indifferent,  but  suffered  in  quiet 
silence,  as  a  princess  of  the  blood  must  suffer,  with 
unclouded  eyes  and  a  smile ! 

After  dinner  Queen  Olga  took  Othomar's  arm: 

"  Come  with  me  for  a  moment,"  she  said. 

The  rain  had  ceased;  a  footman  opened  the 
French  windows.  Behind  the  dining-room  lay  a 
long  terrace  looking  upon  the  woods.  The  queen 
put  her  arm  in  Othomar's  and  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  with  him: 

"  And  so  you  are  going  to  leave  us?  "  she  asked. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  smile : 

4  You  know  I  am,  aunt ;  with  much  regret.  I 
shall  often  long  for  Altseeborgen,  for  all  of  you. 
I  feel  so  much  at  home  in  your  circle.  But  yet  I 
am  anxious  to  see  mamma  again:  it's  nearly  four 
months  since  I  saw  her  last." 

"  And  are  you  feeling  better?  " 

"  How  could  I  but  feel  better,  aunt?     The  voy- 


MAJESTY  193 

age  with  Herman  made  me  ever  so  much  stronger; 
and  living  here  with  you  has  been  a  delightful  after- 
cure.  A  delightful  holiday." 

"  But  your  holiday  will  soon  be  over.  Will  you 
now  be  able  to  play  your  part  again?  " 

He  smiled,  while  his  sad  eyes  expressed  calm 
resignation: 

"  Certainly,  aunt.  Life  can't  be  always  holidays. 
I  should  think  I  had  had  my  fill  of  them,  doing 
nothing  for  six  weeks  except  lie  on  the  sand,  or  in 
the  woods,  or  in  that  most  comfortable  wicker  chair 
of  Herman's!" 

"Have  you  done  nothing  besides?"  she  said, 
playfully. 

"  How  do  you  mean?  " 

"Saved  Valerie's  life,  for  instance?" 

He  gave  a  slight  movement  of  gentle  impatience : 

"  But,  aunt,  I  didn't  really.  I  suppose  the  papers 
will  go  and  say  I  did,  but  there  was  really  no  saving 
in  the  matter.  Valerie  knows  how  to  swim  and  she 
was  close  to  the  shore." 

"  I've  had  a  letter  from  papa,  Othomar." 

"  From  papa?  " 

"  Yes.  .  .  .  Have  you  never  thought  of  ... 
Valerie?" 

He  reflected  for  a  second: 

"  Perhaps,"  he  laughed. 

"  Do  you  feel  no  affection  for  her?  " 

"  Certainly,  aunt.  ...  I  thought  papa  preferred 
the  Grand-duchess  Xenia?" 

The  queen  shrugged  her  shoulders: 

"  There's  the  question  of  her  religion,  you  know. 


i94  MAJESTY 

And  papa  would  be  just  as  glad  of  an  Austrian  alli- 
ance. .  .  .  How  do  you  propose  to  make  the 
journey?  And  when  do  you  start?" 

"  Ducardi  and  the  others  will  be  here  this  week. 
Towards  the  end  of  the  Week.  First  to  Copen- 
hagen, London,  Brussels,  Berlin  and  then  to  Vi- 
enna." 

"  And  to  Sigismundingen." 

"  Yes,  Sigismundingen,  if  papa  wishes." 

"  But  what  do  you  wish,  Othomar?  " 

He  looked  at  her  gently,  smiling,  shrugged  his 
shoulders : 

"  But,  aunt,  what  wish  have  I  in  the  matter?  " 

"  Could  you  grow  fond  of  Valerie?  " 

"  I  think  so,  aunt;  I  think  she  is  very  sweet  and 
very  capable  and  thorough." 

"  Yes,  that  she  certainly  is,  Othomar !  Would 
you  not  speak  to  her  before  you  go?  " 

"Aunt.  .  .  ." 

"Why  shouldn't  you?" 

"  Aunt,  I  can't  do  that.  I  am  only  staying  a  few 
days  longer,  and  .  .  ." 

"Well?" 

'  Valerie  has  had  a  great  sorrow.  She  cannot 
but  still  be  suffering  under  it.  Think,  aunt,  it  was 
yesterday.  Good  God,  yesterday!  .  .  .  And  to- 
day she  was  so  calm,  so  natural.  .  .  .  But  it  must 
be  so,  mustn't  it?  She  must  still  be  suffering  very 
severely.  She  went  on  the  sea  this  morning,  in  this 
weather:  we  don't  know,  do  we,  aunt,  but  we  all 
think  the  same  thing!  Perhaps  we  are  quite  mis- 
taken. Things  are  often  different  from  what  they 
seem.  But,  however  that  may  be,  she  is  certainly 


MAJESTY  195 

in  distress.     And  so  I  can't  ask  her,  now.  .  .  ." 

"  It's  a  pity,  as  you're  here  together.  A  thing 
of  this  sort  is  often  settled  at  a  distance.  If  it  was 
arranged  here,  you  would  perhaps  not  need  to  make 
the  journey." 

"  But,  aunt,  papa  was  so  bent  upon  it!  " 

"  That's  true;  but  then  nothing  was  yet  decided." 

"  No,  aunt,  let  me  make  the  journey.  For  in 
any  case  it's  impossible  to  arrange  things  here.  If 
papa  himself  asked  me,  I  should  tell  him  .  .  .  that 
it  was  impossible." 

"  Papa  does  ask  you,  Othomar,  in  his  letter  to 
me." 

He  seized  her  hands : 

"  Aunt,  in  that  case,  write  to  him  and  say  that  it's 
impossible,  at  this  moment  .  .  .  oh,  impossible, 
impossible!  Let  us  spare  her,  aunt.  If  she  be- 
comes my  wife,  she  will  still  become  so  while  she 
loves  another.  Will  that  not  be  terrible  enough  for 
her,  when  it  is  decided  months  hence?  Therefore 
let  us  spare  her  now.  You  feel  that  too,  as  a 
woman,  don't  you?  There  are  no  affairs  of  state 
that  make  it  necessary  for  my  marriage  to  take 
place  in  such  a  hurry." 

"  Yet  papa  wishes  you  to  marry  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. He  wants  a  grandson.  .  .  ." 

He  made  no  reply;  a  look  of  suffering  passed 
over  his  face.  The  queen  perceived  it: 

"  But  you're  right,"  she  replied,  giving  way.  "  It 
would  be  too  cruel.  Valerie,  I  may  tell  you,  is  bear- 
ing up  wonderfully.  That's  how  a  future  Empress 
of  Liparia  ought  to  be.  .  .  ." 

He  still  made  no  reply  and  walked  silently  beside 


196  MAJESTY 

her;  her  arm  lay  in  his;  she  felt  his  arm  tremble: 
"  Come,"  she  said,  gently,  "  let  us  go  in;  walking 
up  and  down  like  this  is  fatiguing.  .  .  ." 


Ducardi,  Dutri,  Leoni  and  Thesbia  arrived  at 
Altseeborgen ;  they  were  to  accompany  Othomar  on 
his  official  journey  through  Europe. 

It  was  one  of  the  last  days,  in  the  morning,  when 
Othomar  was  walking  with  Herman  towards  the 
woods.  The  sun  was  shining,  the  woods  were  fra- 
grant, the  foot  slid  over  the  smooth  pine-needles. 
The  princes  sat  down  on  the  ground,  near  a  great 
pool  of  water;  around  them  rose  the  straight  pine- 
trunks,  with  their  knotty  peaks  of  side-branches;  the 
sky  faded  into  the  distance  with  blue  chinks  showing 
between  the  projecting  foliage  of  needles. 

Herman  leant  against  a  tree-trunk;  Othomar 
stretched  himself  flat  on  his  back,  with  his  hands 
beneath  his  head: 

"  It  will  soon  be  over  now,"  he  said,  softly. 

Herman  made  no  reply,  but  mechanically  swept 
the  pine-needles  together  with  his  hand.  Nor 
did  Othomar  speak  again;  he  swallowed  his  last 
moments  of  relaxation  and  repose  in  careful 
draughts,  each  draught  a  pure  joy  that  would  never 
return.  In  the  woods  a  stillness  reigned  as  of  death, 
as  though  the  earth  were  uninhabited;  the  melan- 
choly of  things  that  are  coming  to  an  end  hung 
about  the  trees. 


MAJESTY  197 

Suddenly  Othomar  took  Herman's  hand  and 
pressed  it: 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said. 

"What  for?"  asked  Herman. 

"  For  the  pleasure  we  have  had  together. 
Mamma  was  right:  I  did  not  know  you,  Her- 
man. .  .  ." 

"  Nor  I  you,  dear  fellow." 

"  It  has  been  a  pleasant  time.  How  delightfully 
we  travelled  together,  like  two  tourists !  How 
grand  and  glorious  India  was,  don't  you  think? 
And  Japan,  how  curious!  I  never  cared  much  for 
hunting;  but,  when  I  was  with  you,  I  understood  it 
and  felt  the  excitement  of  it:  I  shall  never  forget 
our  tiger-hunt !  The  eyes  of  the  brute,  the  danger 
facing  you:  it's  invigorating.  At  a  moment  like 
that,  you  feel  yourself  becoming  primitive,  like  the 
first  man.  The  look  of  one  of  those  tigers  drives 
away  a  lot  of  your  hesitation.  That's  another 
danger,  which  mamma  is  always  so  afraid  of:  oh, 
how  enervating  it  is;  it  eats  up  all  your  energy !  .  .  . 
And  the  nights  on  the  Indian  Ocean,  on  board  our 
Viking.  That  great  wide  circle  around  you,  all 
those  stars  over  your  head.  How  often  we  sat 
looking  at  them,  with  our  legs  on  the  bulwarks ! 
.  .  .  Perhaps  it's  a  mistake  to  sit  dreaming  so  long, 
but  it  rests  one  so,  it  rests  one  so !  I  shall  never 
forget  it,  never.  .  .  ." 

1  Well,  old  chap,  we  must  do  it  again." 

"  No,  one  never  does  anything  again.  What's 
done  is  done.  Nothing  returns,  not  a  single  mo- 
ment of  our  lives.  Later  on  it  is  always  differ- 
ent " 

VrJ.lv*  •  *  • 


198  MAJESTY 

He  looked  round  about  him,  as  though  some  one 
might  be  listening;  then  he  whispered: 

"  Herman,  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

'What  is  it?" 

"  Something  to  confide  to  you.  But  first  tell 
me :  that  time  with  the  tiger,  you  didn't  think  me  a 
great  coward,  did  you?  " 

"  No,  certainly  not !  " 

"  Well,  I'm  a  coward  for  all  that.  I'm  fright- 
ened, always  frightened.  The  doctors  don't  know 
it,  because  I  never  tell  them.  But  I  always 
am.  .  .  ." 

"  But  of  what,  my  dear  chap?  " 

"  Of  something  inside  myself.  Look  here,  Her- 
man, I'm  so  afraid  .  .  .  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
stick  it  out.  That  at  a  given  moment  of  my  life 
I  shall  be  too  weak.  That  suddenly  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  act  and  then,  then  .  .  ." 

He  shuddered;  they  look  at  each  other. 

"  It  won't  do,"  he  continued,  mechanically,  as 
though  strengthened  by  Herman's  glance.  "  I  shall 
fight  against  it,  against  that  dread  of  mine.  .  .  .  Do 
you  believe  in  presentiments?  " 

"Yes,  inversely:  mine  always  turn  out  the  oppo- 
site!" 

'  Then  I  hope  that  my  presentiment  won't  come 
true  either." 

"But  what  is  it?" 

"  That  within  the  year  .  .  .  one  of  us  ...  at 
Lipara  .  .  .  will  be  dead." 

Herman  stared  at  him  fixedly.  For  all  his  man- 
liness and  his  muscular  strength,  there  lay  deep 
down  within  him  a  certain  heritage  of  the  supersti- 


MAJESTY  199 

tion  that  comes  murmuring  from  the  sea  as  with 
voices  of  distant  prophecy,  a  superstition  lulled  by 
the  beautiful  legends  of  their  Gothlandic  sea,  which, 
syren-like,  sings  strange,  mystic  fairy-tales.  Per- 
haps he  had  never  until  this  moment  felt  that  some 
of  it  flowed  in  his  rich  blood;  and  he  tried  to  shake 
it  off  as  nonsense : 

"  But  Othomar,  do  be  rational !  "  he  said. 

"  I  can  do  nothing  to  prevent  it,  Herman.  I 
don't  think  about  it,  but  I  feel  little  sharp  stings, 
like  thoughts  suddenly  springing  up.  And  lately 
.  .  .  oh,  lately,  it  has  been  worse;  it  has  become  a 
dream,  a  nightmare!  I  was  walking  through  the 
shopping-streets  of  Lipara  and  from  all  the  shops 
came  black  people  and  they  measured  out  bales  of 
black  crape,  with  yard-measures,  till  the  streets  were 
filled  with  it  and  the  crape  lay  in  the  town  as  though 
in  clouds  and  surged  over  the  town  like  a  mass  of 
black  muslin.  It  made  everything  dark:  the  sun 
could  not  shine  through  it  and  everything  lay  in 
shadow.  The  people  did  not  seem  to  recognize  me 
and,  when  I  asked  what  all  that  crape  was  for,  they 
whispered  in  my  ears,  '  Hush,  hush,  it's  .  .  .  it's 
for  the  Imperial ! '  .  .  .  O  Herman,  then  I  woke 
and  I  was  damp  with  perspiration  and  it  was  as 
though  I  still  heard  it  echoing  after  me :  '  For  the 
Imperial,  it's  for  the  Imperial !  ' 

Herman  got  up;  he  was  a  little  nervous: 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "shall  we  go?  ...  Dreams: 
don't  pay  any  attention  to  dreams,  Othomar  1  " 

Othomar  also  rose : 

"  No,  I  oughtn't  to  pay  attention  to  them,"  he 
repeated,  in  a  strange  tone.  "  I  never  used  to." 


200  MAJESTY 

"  Othomar,"  Herman  began,  decidedly,  as  though 
he  wished  to  say  something. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  for  a  minute ;  let  me  be  for  a 
moment,"  Othomar  interrupted,  quickly,  anxiously. 

They  walked  through  the  woods  in  silence.  Otho- 
mar looked  about  him,  strangely,  looked  at  the 
ground.  Herman  compressed  his  lips  tightly  and 
puckered  up  his  forehead :  he  was  annoyed.  But  he 
said  nothing.  In  a  few  minutes  Othomar's  strange 
glances  grew  calmer  and  quieted  down  into  their 
usual  gentle  melancholy. 

Then  he  gave  a  little  sigh,  as  if  he  were  catching 
his  breath: 

"  Don't  be  angry,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm 
through  Herman's. 

His  voice  had  resumed  its  usual  tone. 

"  Perhaps  it's  as  well  that  I  have  told  you;  now 
perhaps  it  will  leave  me.  So  don't  be  angry,  Her- 
man. ...  I  promise  you  I  sha'n't  talk  lite  that 
again  and  I  shall  do  my  best  also  not  to  think  like 
that  any  more.  But,  when  I  have  anything  on  my 
mind,  I  must  tell  it  to  somebody.  And  surely 
that's  much  better  than  for  ever  keeping  silent  about 
it!  And  then,  you  see,  soon  I  shall  have  no  more 
time  to  think  of  such  things :  to-morrow  we  shall  be 
at  Copenhagen  and  then  life  will  resume  its  normal 
course.  How  can  I  have  talked  so  queerly?  How 
did  I  take  it  into  my  head?  Even  I  can't  remember. 
It  seems  very  silly  now,  even  to  myself." 

He  gave  a  little  laugh  and  then,  earnestly : 

"  After  all,  I'm  glad  that  we  have  had  a  talk 
by  ourselves,  that  I  have  been  able  to  thank  you. 
We're  friends  now,  aren't  we?" 


MAJESTY  201 

"  Yes,  of  course  we're  friends,"  replied  Herman, 
laughing  in  the  midst  of  his  annoyance.  "  But  all 
the  same  I  shall  never  know  you  thoroughly!  " 

"  Don't  say  that  just  because  of  a  single  presenti- 
ment, which  I  think  foolish  myself.  What  else  is 
there  in  me  that's  puzzling?  .  .  ." 

"  No,  there's  nothing  else !  "  Herman  assented. 
'  You're  a  good  chap.  I  don't  know  how  it  has 
come  about,  but  I  like  you  very  much.  .  .  ." 

They  left  the  woods;  the  sea  lay  before  them. 
Like  life  itself,  it  lay  before  them,  with  all  the 
mystery  of  its  depths,  wherein  a  multiple  soul  seemed 
to  move,  rounding  wave  upon  wave.  Nameless  and 
innumerable  were  its  changes  of  colour,  its  moods  of 
incessant  movement;  and  it  spewed  a  foam  of  pass- 
ion on  its  fiercely  towering  crests.  But  this  passion 
was  merely  its  superficial  manifestation,  the  exu- 
berance of  its  endless  vitality:  from  its  depths  there 
murmured,  in  the  inimitable  melodies  of  its  millions 
of  voices,  the  mystery  of  its  soul,  as  it  were  a  glory 
which  the  sky  above  alone  knew. 


"  TO  HIS  IMPERIAL  HIGH-NESS  THE  DUKE  OF  XARA, 
"  OSBORNE  HOUSE,  ISLE  OF  WIGHT. 

"  IMPERIAL, 

"  Li  PARA, 

" — September,  18 — . 
"  DEAR  SON, 

"  It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  receive  your  letter, 
telling  us  of  the  cordial  welcome  which  you  met  with 


202  MAJESTY 

first  at  Copenhagen  and  now  in  England.  We  must 
however  express  our  surprise  at  what  Aunt  Olga 
wrote  to  us  and  our  regret  that  you  did  not  act 
according  to  our  wishes;  the  Emperor  of  Austria 
and  the  Archduke  Albrecht  express  the  same  regret 
in  their  letters  to  us.  We  presume  that  we  did  not 
express  ourselves  definitely  enough  in  our  letter  to 
Aunt  Olga :  otherwise  we  cannot  imagine  why  she 
did  not  urge  you  more  strongly  to  ask  the  Arch- 
duchess Valerie  for  an  interview  and  to  speak  to  her 
of  the  important  matter  which  we  all  at  this  mo- 
ment have  so  much  at  heart.  You  would  then  have 
been  able  to  announce  your  engagement  sous  cachet 
at  the  courts  which  you  are  now  visiting;  and  the 
betrothal  could  have  been  celebrated,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  journey,  at  Sigismundingen.  Whereas 
now  you  have  probably  placed  yourself  in  a  false 
position  towards  our  friends  Their  Majesties  of 
Denmark  and  of  England,  as  all  the  newspapers  are 
speaking  of  a  possible  betrothal  to  the  Archduchess 
Valerie  and  the  press  is  already  so  kind  as  to  discuss 
the  pros  and  cons  of  this  alliance  in  a  loud  voice. 
Your  journey,  however,  would  have  had  to  take 
place  in  any  case,  as  it  had  already  been  so  long 
announced  —  your  illness  intervened  to  postpone  it 
—  and  as  it  is  therefore  nothing  more  than  an  act 
of  courtesy  towards  our  friends. 

"  Once  again,  your  neglect  to  act  in  accordance 
with  our  wishes  causes  us  great  regret.  We  per- 
ceive in  you,  Othomar,  a  certain  tendency  towards 
bourgeois  hypersensitiveness,  which  we  hope  you 
will  learn  to  master  with  all  the  strength  you  possess. 
Few  of  us  have  in  this  life  escaped  a  sorrow  such 


MAJESTY  203 

as  Prince  von  Lohe-Obkowitz  has  caused  your  fu- 
ture bride,  but  it  remains  an  entirely  personal  and 
subordinate  feeling  and  should  not  be  allowed  to 
interfere  in  the  least  with  affairs  of  such  great  po- 
litical importance  as  the  marriage  of  a  future  em- 
peror of  Liparia.  The  archduchess  will  doubtless, 
when  she  is  older,  learn  to  look  at  this  in  the  same 
light;  and  we  hope  that  she  will  very  soon  realize 
that  her  affection  for  Prince  Lohe  could  never  have 
brought  her  happiness,  as  it  would  have  caused  a 
rupture  with  his  imperial  majesty  her  uncle  and  with 
all  her  relations. 

"  Master  yourself,  Othomar,  we  ask  and  urge. 
You  sometimes  have  ideas  and  entertain  proposals 
which  are  not  those  of  a  ruler.  We  have  noticed 
this  more  than  once  or  twice :  among  other  occa- 
sions, when  you  visited  Zanti  at  Vaza.  We  did  not 
like  to  reproach  you  with  this  at  the  time,  as  we 
were  otherwise  very  well  pleased  with  you.  Your 
dearest  wish  will  no  doubt  be  that  we  shall  always 
remain  so. 

"  We  hope  therefore  to  see  you  three  weeks  hence 
at  Sigismundingen,  where  the  Archduchess  Valerie 
will  by  then  have  returned  from  Altseeborgen  to 
meet  you  and  where  we  shall  also  meet  the  Emperor 
of  Austria. 

"  It  is  our  fervent  hope  that  the  long  voyage  with 
Herman  will  have  done  you  much  good  and  that 
your  wedding  will  take  place  at  Altara  as  soon  as 
possible.  This  glad  prospect  affords  us  a  pleasant 
diversion  from  our  difficulties  with  the  army  bill, 
which  is  encountering  such  stubborn  opposition  in 
the  house  of  deputies,  though  we  hope  for  all  that 


204  MAJESTY 

to  succeed  in  carrying  it,  as  it  is  essential  that  our 
army  should  be  increased. 
"  We  cordially  embrace  you. 

"  OSCAR." 


CHAPTER  V 


IT  was  after  the  state  banquet  in  the  castle  at 
Sigismundingen,  where  the  imperial  families  of 
Liparia  and  Austria  were  assembled  to  celebrate 
the  betrothal  of  the  Duke  of  Xara  and  the  Arch- 
duchess Valerie.  It  was  in  September :  the  day  had 
been  sultry  and  in  the  evening  the  oppressive  heat 
still  hung  brooding  in  the  air. 

Dinner  was  just  over  and  the  imperial  procession 
returned  through  a  long  corridor  to  the  reception- 
rooms.  All  the  balcony-windows  of  the  brightly- 
lighted  gallery  stood  open;  beneath,  as  in  an  abyss 
of  river  landscape,  flowed  the  Danube,  rolling 
against  the  rocks,  while  above  it  towered  the  castle 
with  its  innumerable  little  pointed  turrets.  The 
mountain-tops  were  defined  in  a  sombre,  violet  am- 
phitheatre against  the  paler  sky,  which  was  incess- 
antly lit  with  electric  flashes,  as  of  noiseless  light- 
ning. The  wood  stood  gloomy  and  black,  shadowy, 
sloping  up  with  the  peaked  tops  of  its  fir-trees 
against  the  mountains;  in  the  distance  lay  small 
houses,  huddled  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  like 
some  straggling  hamlet,  with  here  and  there  a  yel- 
low light. 

The  Emperor  of  Liparia  gave  his  arm  to  the 
mother  of  the  bride,  the  Archduchess  Eudoxie ;  then 

followed  the  Emperor  of  Austria  with  the  Empress 

205 


206  MAJESTY 

of  Liparia,  the  Archduke  Albrecht  with  the  Empress 
of  Austria,  Othomar  with  Valerie.  .  .  . 

Valerie,  lightly  pressing  Othomar's  arm,  withdrew 
with  him  from  the  procession : 

"  It  was  so  warm  in  the  dining-room;  you  will 
excuse  me,"  she  said  to  Othomar's  sister,  the  Arch- 
duchess of  Carinthia,  who  was  following  with  one 
of  her  Austrian  cousins. 

Valerie's  smile  requested  the  archduchess  to  go 
on.  The  others  followed:  the  august  guests,  the 
equerries,  the  ladies-in-waiting;  they  smiled  to  the 
betrothed  imperial  couple,  who  stood  in  one  of  the 
open  window-recesses  to  let  them  pass. 

They  remained  alone  in  the  gallery,  before  the 
open  window: 

"  I  need  air,"  said  Valerie,  with  a  sigh. 

He  made  no  reply.  They  stood  together  in  si- 
lence, gazing  at  the  evening  landscape.  He  was 
wearing  the  uhlan  uniform  of  the  Austrian  regiment 
which  he  commanded;  and  a  new  order  glittered 
amongst  the  others  on  his  breast :  the  Golden  Fleece 
of  Austria.  She  seemed  to  have  grown  older  than 
she  was  at  Altseeborgen,  in  her  pink-silk  evening- 
dress,  with  wide,  puffed  sleeves  of  very  pale-green 
velvet,  a  tight-curled  border  of  white  ostrich- 
feathers  edging  the  low-cut  bodice  and  the  train. 

"Shall  I  leave  you  alone  for  a  little,  Valerie?" 
he  asked,  gently. 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling  sadly.  Her  bosom 
seemed  to  heave  with  uncontrollable  emotion. 

"Why,  Othomar?"  she  asked.  "I  am  lonely 
enough  at  nights,  with  my  thoughts.  Leave  me 
alone  with  them  as  little  as  you  can.  ,  .  ," 


MAJESTY  207 

She  suddenly  held  out  her  hand  to  him:. 
'  Will    you    forgive    your    future    empress    her 
broken  heart?"  she  asked,  suddenly,  with  a  great 
sob. 

And  her  pale,  shrunken  face  turned  full  towards 
him,  with  two  eyes  like  those  of  a  stricken  doe. 
An  irrepressible  feeling  of  pity  caused  something  to 
well  up  unexpectedly  in  his  soul;  he  squeezed  her 
hand  and  turned  away,  so  as  not  to  weep. 

He  looked  out  of  the  window.  Some  of  the 
pointed  towers,  visible  from  here,  rose  with  an  air 
of  sombre  romance  against  the  sky,  which  was 
luminous  with  electricity.  Below  them,  romanti- 
cally, murmured  the  Danube.  The  mountains  were 
like  the  landscape  in  a  ballad.  But  no  ballad,  no 
romance  echoed  between  their  two  hearts.  The 
prose  of  the  inevitable  necessity  was  the  only  har- 
mony that  united  them.  But  this  harmony  also 
united  them  in  reality,  brought  them  together,  made 
them  understand  each  other,  feel  and  live  at  one 
with  each  other.  They  were  now  for  a  minute 
alone  and  their  eyes  frankly  sought  the  depths  of 
each  other's  souls.  There  was  no  need  for  pretence 
between  these  two:  each  saw  the  other's  sorrow 
lying  shivering  and  naked  in  the  other's  heart. 

It  was  not  the  riotous  passion  of  despair  that 
they  beheld.  They  saw  a  gentle,  tremulous  sadness; 
they  looked  at  it  with  wide,  staring  eyes  of  anguish, 
as  children  look  who  think  they  see  a  ghost.  For 
them  that  ghost  issued  from  life  itself:  life  itself 
became  for  them  a  ghostly  existence.  They  them- 
selves were  spectres,  though  they  know  that  they 
were  tangible,  with  bodies.  What  were  they? 


208  MAJESTY 

Dream-beings,  with  crowns;  they  lived  and  bowed 
and  acted  and  smiled  as  in  a  dream,  because  of  their 
crowns.  They  did  not  exist:  a  vagueness  did  indeed 
suggest  in  their  dream-brains  that  something  might 
exist,  in  other  laws  of  nature  than  those  of  their 
sphere,  but  in  their  sphere  they  did  not  exist.  .  .  . 

His  hand  was  toying  mechanically  with  some 
papers  that  lay  near  him,  on  the  mirror-bracket  be- 
tween two  of  the  window-recesses;  they  were  illus- 
trated periodicals,  doubtless  left  there  by  some 
chamberlain.  He  took  one  up,  to  while  their  sad 
silence,  and  opened  it.  The  first  thing  that  he  saw 
was  their  own  portraits: 

"  Look,"  he  said. 

He  showed  them  to  her.  They  now  turned  over 
the  pages  together,  saw  the  portraits  also  of  their 
parents,  a  drawing  of  the  castle,  a  corner  of  Sigis- 
mundingen  Park.  Then  together  they  read  the 
announcement  of  their  engagement.  They  were 
first  each  described  separately:  he,  an  accomplished 
prince,  doing  a  great  deal  of  good,  very  popular  in 
his  own  country  and  cordially  loved  by  the  Emperor 
of  Austria;  she,  every  inch  a  princess,  born  to  be 
the  empress  of  a  great  empire,  with  likewise  her 
special  accomplishments.  The  eyes  of  all  Europe 
were  fixed  upon  them  at  the  moment.  For  their 
marriage  would  not  only  be  an  imperial  alliance  of 
great  political  importance,  but  would  also  tie  a  knot 
of  real  harmony:  their  marriage  was  a  love-match. 
There  had  been  attempts  to  make  it  seem  otherwise, 
but  this  was  not  correct.  In  Gothland,  in  the  home 
circle  at  Altseeborgen,  the  young  couple  had  learnt 
to  know  each  other  well;  their  love  had  sprung 


MAJESTY  209 

like  an  idyll  from  the  sea  and  the  Duke  of  Xara 
had  once  even  saved  the  archduchess'  life,  when 
she  had  ventured  out  too  far,  in  stormy  weather, 
in  a  rowing-boat.  Their  love  was  like  a  novel 
with  a  happy  ending.  The  Emperor  Oscar  would 
rather  have  seen  the  Grand-duchess  Xenia  crown- 
princess  of  Liparia  and  attached  great  value  to  an 
alliance  with  Russia,  but  he  had  yielded  before  his 
son's  love.  .  .  .  And  the  article  ended  by  saying 
that  the  wedding  would  take  place  in  October  in 
the  old  palace  at  Altara. 

They  read  it  together,  with  their  mournful  faces, 
their  wide,  fixed  eyes,  which  still  smarted  with  star- 
ing into  each  other's  souls.  Not  a  single  remark 
came  from  their  lips  after  reading  the  article;  they 
only  just  smiled  their  two  heart-rending  smiles;  then 
they  laid  the  paper  down  again.  And  she  asked, 
with  that  strange  calm  with  which  this  betrothed 
pair  were  trying  to  get  to  know  each  other : 

"  Othomar  ...  do  you  care  for  nobody?  " 

A  flush  suffused  his  cheeks.  Did  she  know  of 
Alexa  ? 

"  I  did  once  think  that  I  ...  that  I  was  in  love," 
he  confessed;  "but  I  do  not  believe  that  it  was 
really  love.  I  now  believe  that  I  do  not  possess 
the  capacity  to  concentrate  my  whole  soul  upon  a 
feeling  for  one  other  soul  alone;  I  should  not  know 
how  to  find  it,  that  one  soul,  and  I  should  fear  to 
make  a  mistake,  or  to  deceive  myself.  .  .  .  No,  I 
do  not  believe  that  I  shall  ever  know  that  exclusive 
feeling.  I  rather  feel  within  me  a  great,  wide, 
general  love,  an  immense  compassion,  for  our  peo- 
ple. It  is  strange  of  me  perhaps.  .  .  ." 


210  MAJESTY 

He  said  it  almost  shyly,  as  though  it  were  some- 
thing abnormal,  that  general  love,  of  which  he 
ought  to  be  ashamed  before  her. 

"  A  great  love,"  he  explained  once  more,  when 
she  continued  to  look  at  him  in  silence;  and  he  made 
an  embracing  gesture  with  his  arms,  "  for  our 
people.  .  .  ." 

"  Do  you  really  feel  that?  "  she  asked,  in  surprise. 

"Yes.  .  .  ." 

A  sort  of  vista  opened  out  before  her,  as  though 
an  horizon  of  light  were  dawning  right  at  the  end 
of  her  dark  melancholy;  but  that  horizon  was  so  far, 
so  very  far  away.  .  .  . 

"  But,  Othomar,"  she  said,  "  that  is  very  good. 
It  is  very  beautiful  to  feel  like  that!  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders: 

"  Beautiful?  How  do  you  mean?  I  cannot  but 
feel  it  when  I  see  all  the  misery  that  exists  .  .  . 
among  our  people,  the  lower  orders,  the  very  lowest 
especially.  If  they  were  all  happy  and  enjoying 
abundance,  there  would  be  no  need  for  me  to  feel  it. 
So  what  is  there  beautiful  about  it?" 

She  gave  a  little  laugh: 

"  I  can't  argue  against  that,  it's  too  deep  for  me. 
I  can't  say  that  I  have  ever  thought  over  those 
social  questions;  they  have  always  existed  as 
they  are  and  .  .  .  and  I  have  not  thought  about 
them.  But  I  can  feel,  with  my  feminine  instinct, 
that  it  is  beautiful  of  you  to  feel  like  that,  Otho- 
mar." 

She  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it;  her  face  lit  up 
with  a  smile.  Then  she  looked,  pensively,  into  the 
dark  landscape  beneath  them  and  she  shivered. 


MAJESTY  211 

"  It's  turning  chilly,"  he  said.  "  We  had  better 
go  in,  Valerie;  you'll  catch  cold  here." 

She  just  felt  at  her  bare  neck: 

"  Presently,"  she  said. 

They  glanced  down,  at  the  murmuring  Danube. 
A  mist  began  to  rise  from  the  river  and  filled  the 
valley  as  it  were  with  light  strips  of  muslin. 

"  Come,"  he  urged. 

11  Look,"  she  said.  "  How  deep  that  is,  is  it 
not?'1 

He  looked  down : 

"  Yes,"  he  replied. 

"  Don't  you  feel  giddy?  "  she  asked. 

He  looked  at  her  anxiously: 

"  No,  not  giddy;  at  least,  not  at  once.  .  .  ." 

"  Othomar,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  "  I  once  sat 
here  for  a  whole  evening.  I  kept  on  looking  down ; 
it  was  darker  than  now  and  I  saw  nothing  but  black- 
ness and  it  kept  on  roaring  through  those  black 
depths.  It  was  the  evening  after  our  engagement 
was  decided.  I  felt  such  pain,  I  suffered  so!  I 
thought  that  I  had  won  a  victory  over  myself,  but 
they  left  me  no  peace  and  the  only  use  of  my  victory 
was  to  give  me  strength  to  do  battle  again.  The 
news  that  I  was  to  be  your  wife  came  as  unexpectedly 
...  as  my  great  sorrow  came !  Then  I  felt  so 
weak  because  it  overwhelmed  me  so,  because  they 
left  me  no  peace.  Oh,  they  were  so  cruel,  they  did 
not  leave  me  a  moment  to  recover  my  breath!  I 
had  to  go  on  again,  on !  Then  I  felt  weak.  I 
thought  that  I  should  never  overcome  my  weakness. 
I  sat  here  for  hours,  looking  at  the  Danube.  It 
made  me  giddy.  ...  At  last  I  thought  that  I  had 


212  MAJESTY 

made  up  my  mind  ...  to  throw  myself  down.  .  .  . 
I  already  saw  myself  floating  away,  there,  there, 
down  there,  right  round  the  castle.  .  .  .  Why  did  I 
not  do  it?  I  believe  because  of  ...  of  him, 
Othomar.  I  loved  him,  I  love  him  now,  though  I 
ought  to  have  more  pride.  I  would  not  punish  iiim 
by  committing  suicide.  He  is  so  weak.  I  know 
him:  it  would  have  haunted  him  all  his  life  long! 
.  .  .  Then  .  .  .  then,  Othomar,  I  ran  away  and  I 
prayed !  I  no  longer  knew  what  to  do !  " 

She  hid  her  face  full  of  anguish  in  her  hands, 
with  a  great  sob.  His  eyes  had  filled  with  tears; 
he  saw  how  she  trembled.  He  threw  a  terrified 
side-glance  at  the  deep  stream  below,  which  roared 
as  though  calling.  .  .  . 

'  Valerie,"  he  stammered,  in  alarm;  "  for  God's 
sake  let  us  go  in.  It's  too  cold  here  and  .  .  . 
and  .  .  ." 

She  looked  at  him  anxiously  too,  with  haggard 
eyes: 

'  Yes,  let  us  go,  Othomar!  "  she  whispered.  "  I 
am  getting  frightened  here:  we  have  that  in  our 
family;  there  is  still  so  much  romance  flowing  in  our 
veins.  .  .  ." 

She  took  his  arm;  they  went  indoors  together. 
But,  before  entering  the  suite  of  anterooms  that  led 
to  the  reception-rooms,  she  detained  him  for  yet  a 
moment : 

"  I  don't  know  whether  we  shall  see  each  other 
alone  again  before  you  return  to  Lipara.  And  I 
still  wanted  to  thank  you  for  something.  .  .  ." 

'For  what?"  he  asked. 

"  For  .  .  .  something  that  Aunt  Olga  told  me. 


MAJESTY  213 

For  .  .  .  sparing  me  at  Altseeborgen.  Thank 
you,  Othomar,  thank  you.  .  .  ." 

She  put  her  arm  around  his  neck  and  gave  him  a 
kiss.  He  kissed  her  in  return. 

And  they  exchanged  their  first  caress. 


The  next  day  the  imperial  family  of  Liparia 
travelled  back  from  Sigismundingen  to  Lipara. 
The  reception  at  the  central  station  was  most 
hearty;  the  town  was  covered  with  bunting;  in  the 
evening  there  were  popular  rejoicings.  The  officers 
of  the  various  army-corps  gave  the  crown-prince 
banquets  in  honour  of  his  betrothal.  The  Arch- 
duchess Valerie's  portraits  were  exposed  in  the  wind- 
ows of  all  the  picture-shops;  the  papers  contained 
long  articles  full  of  jubilation. 

It  was  a  few  hours  before  the  dinner  given  by 
the  officers  of  the  throne-guards  to  their  imperial 
colonel  when  Othomar  was,  as  it  were  suddenly, 
overcome  by  a  strange  sensation.  He  was  in  his 
writing-room,  felt  rather  giddy  and  had  to  sit  down. 
The  giddiness  was  slight,  but  lasted  a  long  time; 
for  a  long  time  the  room  seemed  to  be  slowly  trying 
to  turn  round  him  and  not  to  succeed ;  and  this  gave 
a  painful  impression  of  resistance  on  the  part  of  its 
lifeless  furniture.  One  of  Othomar's  hands  rested 
on  his  thigh,  the  other  on  the  ruff  of  the  collie  which 
had  laid  its  head  upon  his  knee.  He  remained  sit- 
ting, bending  forward. 

When  the  giddiness  had  passed,  he  retained  a 


2i4  MAJESTY 

strange  lightness  in  his  head,  as  though  something 
had  been  taken  out  of  it.  He  leant  back  cautiously; 
the  collie,  half-asleep,  dreamily  opened  its  eyes  and 
then  dozed  off  again,  its  head  upon  Othomar's 
knee,  under  his  hand.  An  irresistible  fatigue  crept 
up  Othomar's  limbs,  as  though  they  were  sinking  in 
soft  mud.  It  surprised  him  greatly,  this  feeling; 
and,  looking  sideways  at  the  clock,  without  moving 
his  head,  lest  he  should  bring  on  the  giddiness  again, 
he  calculated  that  he  had  an  hour  and  a  half  before 
dinner.  This  prospective  interval  relieved  him  and 
he  remained  sitting,  as  though  calculating  his  fa- 
tigue: whether  it  would  pass,  whether  it  would 
leave  his  body. 

It  lasted  a  long  time,  so  long  indeed  that  he 
doubted  whether  he  would  be  able  to  go.  When 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  had  passed,  he  pressed 
the  bell  which  stood  near  him  on  the  table.  Andro 
entered. 

"  Andro  .  .  ."  he  began,  without  continuing. 

"  Does  your  highness  wish  to  dress?  Everything 
is  put  out.  .  .  ." 

Othomar  just  patted  the  dog's  head,  as  it  still 
lay  dozing  motionless  against  his  knee. 

"  Is  your  highness  unwell?  " 

"  A  little  giddy,  Andro;  it  is  passing  off  already." 

"  But  is  your  highness  right  in  going?  Had  I 
not  better  send  for  Prince  Dutri?  " 

Othomar  shook  his  head  decidedly  and  rose : 

"  No,  I'm  late  as  it  is,  Andro.  Come,  help  me 
with  my  things.  .  .  ." 

And  he  entered  his  dressing-room. 

He  appeared  at  the  dinner,  but  made  excuses  to 


MAJESTY  215 

the  officers  for  his  evident  languor.  He  just  joined 
in  the  toasts  by  raising  his  glass,  with  a  smile.  It 
struck  them  all  that  he  looked  very  ill,  emaciated, 
hollow-eyed  and  white  as  chalk  in  his  white-and-gold 
uniform.  Immediately  after  dinner  he  returned  to 
the  Imperial,  without  accompanying  them  to  the 
Imperial  Jockey  Club,  the  club  of  the  jeunesse  dorce. 

He  slept  heavily;  a  misty  dream  hovered  through 
his  night.  The  man  who  had  tried  to  murder  him 
at  Zanti's  grinned  at  him  with  clenched  fists;  then 
the  scene  changed  to  the  Gothlandic  sea  and  he 
rowed  Valerie  along,  but,  however  hard  he  rowed, 
the  three  towers  of  the  castle  always  drew  farther 
away,  unapproachable.  .  .  . 

When  he  awoke,  it  was  already  past  eight.  He 
reflected  that  it  was  too  late  for  his  usual  morning 
ride  and  remained  lying  where  he  was.  He  rang 
for  Andro: 

"  Why  didn't  you  wake  me  at  seven  o'clock?  " 
'  Your  highness  was  sleeping  so  soundly,  I  dared 
not;  your  highness  was  not  well  yesterday.   .  .  ." 

"  And  so  you  just  let  me  sleep?  Very  well.  .  .  . 
Send  word  to  her  majesty  .  .  .  that  I  am  not  well." 

The  man  looked  at  him  anxiously: 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  your  highness?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Andro  ...  I  am  a  little  tired. 
Where's  Djalo?" 

"  Here,  highness.   .   .   ." 

The  collie  ran  in  noisily,  put  its  great  paws  on 
the  camp-bed,  wriggled  its  haunches  wildly  to  and 
fro  as  it  wagged  its  tail.  .  .  . 

Then,  suddenly,  it  lay  down  quietly  beside  the 
bed. 


2i6  MAJESTY 

The  empress  sent  back  to  say  that  she  would  come 
at  once;  she  was  not  yet  dressed.  .  .  With  calm, 
open  eyes  Othomar  lay  waiting  for  her. 

She  entered  at  last,  a  little  agitated  with  anxiety. 
She  questioned  him,  but  learnt  nothing  from  his 
vague,  smiling  replies.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his 
forehead,  felt  his  pulse  and  could  not  make  up  her 
mind  whether  he  had  any  fever.  There  was  typhoid 
about:  she  was  afraid  of  it.  ... 

The  physicians-in-ordinary  were  called  and  re- 
lieved her  mind:  there  was  no  fever.  The  prince 
seemed  generally  tired;  he  had  doubtless  over-ex- 
erted himself  lately.  He  must  rest.  .  .  . 

The  emperor  was  astonished:  the  prince  had  just 
been  resting  and  had  stayed  on  for  weeks  at  Altsee- 
borgen.  What  had  been  the  use  of  it  then ! 

The  rumour  ran  through  the  palace,  the  town, 
the  country,  through  Europe,  that  the  Duke  of  Xara 
was  keeping  his  room  because  of  a  slight  indisposi- 
tion. The  physicians  issued  a  simple  and  very  re- 
assuring bulletin. 

However,  in  the  afternoon  Othomar  got  up  and 
even  dressed  himself,  but  not  in  uniform.  He  had 
had  some  lunch  in  his  bedroom  and  now  went  to 
Princess  Thera's  apartments.  She  sat  drawing; 
with  her  was  a  lady-in-waiting,  the  young  Mar- 
chioness of  Ezzera. 

The  princess  was  surprised  to  see  her  brother: 

"What!  Is  that  you?  I  thought  you  were  in 
bed!  .  .  ." 

"  No,  I'm  a  little  better.  .  .  ." 

He  bowed  to  the  marchioness,  who  had  risen 
and  curtseyed. 


MAJESTY  217 

''Won't  you  go  on  with  the  portrait?"  asked 
Othomar. 

Thera  looked  at  him : 

'  You're  looking  so  pale,  poor  boy.     Perhaps  I'd 
better  not.     It  tires  you  so,  that  sitting,  doesn't  it?  " 
'  Yes,  sometimes,  a  little.  .  .  ." 

They  were  now  standing  before  the  portrait; 
the  marchioness  had  retired,  as  she  always  did  when 
the  brother  and  sister  were  together.  The  painting 
was  half-covered  with  a  silk  cloth,  which  Thera 
pulled  aside:  it  was  already  a  young  head  full  of 
expression,  in  which  life  began  to  gleam  behind  the 
black,  melancholy  eyes,  and  painted  with  broad,  firm 
brushwork,  with  much  reflection  of  outside  light, 
which  fell  upon  one  side  of  the  face  and  brought  it 
into  relief,  throwing  it  forward  out  of  the  shadow 
in  the  background. 

"  Is  it  almost  finished?  "  asked  Othomar. 
'  Yes,  but  you've  kept  me  waiting  awfully  long 
for  the  final  touches:  just  think,  you've  been  away 
for  four  months.  I  haven't  been  able  to  work  at  it 
all  that  time.  But,  you  know  .  .  .  you've  changed. 
If  only  I  sha'n't  have  to  leave  it  like  this.  It's  no 
longer  like  you.  .  .  ." 

"  It'll  begin  to  be  like  me  again,  when  I'm  looking 
a  little  better!  "  answered  Othomar. 

But  the  princess  became  rather  nervous;  she  sud- 
denly drew  the  silk  cloth  over  it  again.  .  .  . 

Othomar  did  not  appear  at  dinner;  he  went  to 
bed  early.  The  next  day  the  doctors  found  him 
very  listless.  He  was  up  but  not  dressed;  he  lay 
in  his  dressing-gown  on  the  sofa  in  his  room,  with 
the  collie  at  his  feet.  He  complained  to  the  em- 


218  MAJESTY 

press  that  he  had  such  a  queer  feeling  in  his  head, 
as  though  it  were  about  to  open  and  pour  out  all 
its  contents. 

For  days  this  condition  remained  unchanged:  a 
total  listlessness,  a  total  loss  of  appetite,  a  visible 
exhaustion.  .  .  .  The  empress  sat  by  his  side  as  he 
lay  on  his  sofa  staring  through  the  open  windows 
into  the  green  depths  of  the  park  of  plane-trees. 
The  birds  chirped  outside;  sometimes  Berengar's 
small,  shrill  voice  sounded  among  them,  as  he  played 
with  a  couple  of  his  little  friends.  The  empress 
read  aloud,  but  it  tired  Othomar,  it  made  his  head 
ache.  .  .  . 

After  a  long  conversation  between  the  three  doc- 
tors and  the  emperor  and  empress,  Professor  Barzia 
was  summoned  from  Altara  for  a  consultation:  the 
professor  was  a  nerve-specialist  of  European  fame. 

In  the  emperor's  room  the  emperor,  the  empress 
and  Count  Myxila  sat  waiting  for  the  result  of  the 
examination  and  the  subsequent  consultation.  It 
lasted  long.  They  did  not  speak  while  they  waited : 
the  empress  sat  staring  before  her  with  her  quiet 
expression  of  acquiescence;  the  emperor  walked  ir- 
ritably to  and  fro.  The  old  chancellor,  with  his 
stern,  proud  face  and  bald  head,  stood  pensively 
near  the  window. 

Then  the  doctors  were  announced.  They  ap- 
peared, Professor  Barzia  leading  the  way,  the  others 
following.  The  empress  fancied  that  she  read  the 
worst  on  the  professor's  pale,  rigid  features;  on? 
of  the  physicians,  however,  nodded  his  big,  kind 
head  compassionately  from  behind  his  colleague,  to 
reassure  her. 


MAJESTY  219 

'Well?"  asked  the  emperor. 

'*  We  have  carefully  examined  his  imperial  high- 
ness, sir,"  the  professor  began.  "  The  prince  is 
quite  free  from  organic  disease,  though  his  constitu- 
tion is  generally  delicate." 

"  What's  wrong  with  him  then?  "  asked  Oscar. 
'  The  prince's  nervous  system  seems  to  us,  sir,  to 
have  undergone  an  alarming  strain." 

"His  nerves?  But  he's  never  nervous,  he's  al- 
ways calm,"  exclaimed  the  emperor,  stubbornly. 

"  All  the  more  reason,  sir,  to  appreciate  the 
prince's  self-restraint.  His  highness  has  evidently 
kept  himself  going  for  a  long  time;  and  the  effort 
has  been  too  much  for  him  at  last.  He  is  calm 
now,  as  your  majesty  says.  But  his  calmness  does 
not  alter  the  fact  that  his  nerves  are  completely  run 
down.  His  highness  has  clearly  been  overtaxing  his 
strength." 

"And  in  what  way? "  asked  the  emperor, 
haughtily. 

'  That,  sir,  would  no  doubt  be  better  known  to 
those  at  court  than  to  me,  who  come  fresh  from  my 
study  and  my  hospitals.  Your  majesty  will  be  able 
to  answer  that  question  yourself.  I  can  only  give 
you  a  few  indications.  His  highness  told  me  that 
he  remembered  sometimes  feeling  those  fits  of  giddi- 
ness and  exhaustion  even  before  the  great  floods  in 
the  north.  That  was  in  March.  It  is  now  Septem- 
ber. I  imagine  that  his  highness  has  been  leading  a 
very  active  life  in  the  meantime?" 

The  emperor  made  movements  with  his  eyebrows 
as  if  he  could  not  understand:  tremulous  motions  of 
his  powerful  head,  with  its  fleece  of  silvering  hair. 


220  MAJESTY 

"  The  journey  to  the  north  may  in  fact  have  af- 
fected his  highness,  professor,"  the  empress  began. 

She  was  sitting  haughtily  upright,  in  her  plain 
dark  dress.  Her  face  was  expressionless,  her  eyes 
were  cold.  She  spoke  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  as 
though  she  were  not  a  mother. 

a  His  highness  is  very  sensitive  to  impressions," 
she  continued,  "  and  he  received  a  good  many  at 
Altara  that  were  likely  to  shock  him." 

The  professor  made  a  slight  movement  of  the 
head: 

"  I  remember,  ma'am,  seeing  his  highness  at  the 
identification  of  the  corpses  in  the  fields,"  he  said. 
"  His  highness  was  very  much  affected.  .  .  ." 

"But  to  what  does  all  this  tend?"  asked  the 
emperor,  still  recalcitrant. 

"  It  tends  to  this,  sir,  that  his  highness  has  pre- 
sumably allowed  himself  no  rest  since  that  time.  .  .  ." 

"  His  highness  has  allowed  himself  months  of 
rest !  "  exclaimed  the  emperor. 

"  Will  your  majesty  permit  us  to  cast  our  eyes 
backwards  for  a  moment?  After  the  very  fatiguing 
journey  in  the  north,  the  prince  returned  straight 
to  conditions  of  political  excitement  —  Lipara  was 
then  under  martial  law  —  and  afterwards  came  the 
bustle  of  a  festival  time,  when  the  King  and  Queen 
of  Syria  were  here.  .  .  ." 

The  emperor  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  After  that,  the  prince,  acting  on  the  advice  of 
my  respected  colleagues,  went  on  a  sea-voyage  to 
restore  his  health.  No  doubt  his  highness  then  en- 
joyed some  days  of  rest;  but  the  great  hunting-trips 
in  which  he  took  part  with  Prince  Herman  were 


MAJESTY  221 

beyond  a  doubt  too  much  for  his  highness'  strength. 
Now,  quite  recently,  his  highness  has  been  betrothed: 
this  may  have  caused  him  some  excitement.  I  am 
casually  mentioning  a  few  of  the  main  facts,  sir.  I 
know  nothing  of  the  prince's  inner  life:  if  I  knew 
something  of  that,  it  would  certainly  make  many 
things  much  easier  for  me.  But  this  is  certain: 
his  highness  has  from  day  to  day  led  a  too  highly 
agitated  existence,  whatever  the  agitations  may  have 
been,  great  or  small.  That  his  highness  did  not 
collapse  earlier  is  no  doubt  due  to  an  uncommon 
power  of  self-control,  of  which  I  believe  the  prince 
himself  to  be  unconscious,  and  an  uncommon  sense 
of  duty,  which  is  also  quite  spontaneous  in  his  high- 
ness. These  are  high  qualities,  sir,  in  a  future 
ruler.  .  .  ." 

A  faint  flush  dyed  the  empress'  cheeks;  a  milder 
expression  suffused  the  coldness  of  her  features. 

"  And  what  is  your  advice,  professor?"  she 
asked. 

"  That  his  highness  should  take  an  indefinite  rest, 
ma'am." 

"  His  highness'  marriage  was  fixed  for  next 
month,"  remarked  the  empress,  in  an  enquiring  tone. 

Professor  Barzia's  face  became  quite  white  and 
rigid. 

"  It  would  be  simply  inexcusable,  if  his  highness' 
marriage  were  to  take  place  next  month,"  he  said, 
with  his  even,  oracular  voice. 

"Postponed,  then?"  asked  the  emperor,  with 
suppressed  rage. 

"  Without  doubt,  sir,"  replied  the  professor,  with 
cool  determination. 


222  MAJESTY 

"  My  dear  professor,"  the  emperor  growled  be- 
tween his  teeth,  with  a  pretence  of  geniality,  u  you 
speak  of  rest  and  of  rest  and  of  rest.  Good  God, 
I  tell  you,  the  prince  has  had  rest,  months  and 
months  of  it!  .  .  .  Do  I  ever  rest  so  long?  Life 
is  movement;  and  government  is  movement.  We 
can't  allow  ourselves  to  rest.  Why  should  a  young 
man  like  the  prince  be  always  resting?  I  never 
remember  resting  like  that,  when  I  was  crown- 
prince  !  He  may  not  be  as  strong  as  I  am,  but  yet 
he  is  of  our  race !  Excitement,  you  say !  Good 
God,  what  excitement?  Political  excitement?  That 
fell  to  my  share,  not  the  prince's !  And  I  had  no 
need  of  rest  after  it.  And  has  a  prince  to  go  and 
rest  when  he  gets  engaged  to  be  married?  Really, 
professor,  this  is  carrying  hygiene  beyond  all 
limits!" 

"Sir,  your  majesty  has  done  me  the  honour  to 
ask  my  opinion  of  the  prince's  condition.  I  have 
given  that  opinion  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge." 

"It's  rest,  then?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  sir." 

"  But  how  long  do  you  want  him  to  rest?  " 

"  I  am  not  able  to  fix  a  date,  sir." 

"  How  long  do  you  want  his  marriage  post- 
poned?" 

"  Indefinitely,  sir." 

The  emperor  paced  the  room;  something  unusual 
passed  over  his  powerful  features,  a  look  of  an- 
guish. .  .  . 

"  That's   impossible,"   he  muttered,   curtly. 

All  were  silent. 

"  It's,  impossible,"  he.  repeated,  dully. 


MAJESTY  223 

"  Then  his  highness  will  marry,  sir,"  said  Barzia. 

The  emperor  stood  still: 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  asked,  gruffly. 
'  That  nothing  can  prevail  with  your  majesty 
in  this  most  important  matter  .  .  .  except  your  own 
sense  of  what  is  right  and  reasonable." 

The  emperor's  breath  came  in  short  gasps  be- 
tween his  full,  sensual  lips;  his  veins  swelled  thick 
on  his  low,  Roman  forehead;  his  strong  fists  were 
clenched.  No  one  had  ever  seen  Oscar  like  this 
before;  nor  had  any  one  ever  dared  so  to  address 
him.  .  .  . 

"  Explain  yourself  more  clearly,"  he  thundered 
into  the  professor's  rigid  face. 

Barzia  did  not  move  a  muscle : 

"  If  his  highness  is  married  next  month  ...  it 
means  his  death." 

The  empress  remained  sitting  stiff  and  upright, 
but  she  turned  very  pale,  shuddered  and  closed  her 
eyes  as  though  she  felt  giddy. 

"  His  death?  "  echoed  the  emperor,  in  consterna- 
tion. 

"  Or  worse,"  rejoined  Barzia. 

"Worse?" 
'  The  extinction  of  your  majesty's  posterity." 

The  emperor  rapped  out  a  furious  oath  and 
struck  his  fist  on  the  huge  writing-table.  The 
bronze  ornaments  on  it  rang.  Myxila  drew  a  step 
nearer: 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  there  is  nothing  lost.  If  I  un- 
derstand Professor  Barzia,  his  highness'  illness  is 
only  temporary  and  is  curable." 

"  Certainly,    excellency,"    replied    Barzia.     "  So 


224  MAJESTY 

long  as  it  is  not  forced  to  become  incurable  and 
chronic." 

Oscar  bit  his  lips  convulsively.  His  glittering 
eyes  stood  out  small  and  cruel.  It  struck  Myxila 
how  much,  at  this  moment,  he  resembled  a  portrait 
of  Wenceslas  the  Cruel. 

"  Professor,"  he  hissed,  "  we  thank  you.  Stay  at 
Lipara  till  to-morrow,  so  as  to  observe  his  highness 
once  more." 

"  I  will  obey  your  majesty's  commands,"  said 
Barzia. 

He  bowed,  the  physicians  bowed;  they  withdrew. 
Left  alone  with  the  empress  and  the  imperial  chan- 
cellor, Oscar  no  longer  restrained  his  rage.  Like 
a  beast  foaming  at  the  mouth,  he  walked  fiercely 
up  and  down  with  heavy  steps,  gurgling  as  though 
the  breath  refused  to  come  through  his  constricted 
throat : 

"  Oh !  "  he  gnashed  between  his  teeth,  bursting 
out  at  last.  "That  boy,  that  boy!  .  .  .  He's  not 
even  fit  to  get  married !  His  duchess :  he  was  able 
to  get  married  to  her !  And  that  boy,  oh,  that  boy 
is  to  succeed  me,  me!  .  .  ." 

A  furious  laugh  of  contempt  grated  from  be- 
tween his  large,  white  teeth,  with  biting  irony. 

The  empress  rose: 

"  Count  Myxila,"  she  said,  trembling,  "  may  I 
beg  your  excellency  to  come  with  me?  " 

She  turned  to  leave  the  room.  Myxila,  hesi- 
tating, was  already  following  her  to  the  door. 

"What  for?"  roared  the  emperor.  "What's 
the  reason  of  that?  I  have  something  more  to  say 
to  Myxila." 


MAJESTY  225 

The  empress  gave  the  emperor  a  look  as  cold  as 
ice: 

"  It  is  my  express  wish,  sir,  that  Count  Myxila 
should  go  with  me,"  she  said,  in  the  same  trembling 
voice.  "  I  think  your  majesty  needs  solitude. 
Your  majesty  is  saying  things  which  a  father  must 
not  even  think  and  which  a  sovereign  must  certainly 
not  say  in  the  presence  of  a  subject,  not  even  in  that 
of  one  of  his  highest  subjects.  .  .  ." 

The  emperor  tried  to  interrupt  her. 

'  Your  majesty,"  continued  the  empress,  with  a 
haughty  tremor,  cutting  the  words  from  him  with 
her  icy-cold,  trembling  voice  as  though  with  a  knife, 
"  is  saying  these  things  of  the  future  Emperor  of 
Lipara  .  .  .  and  I  wish  no  subject,  not  even  Count 
Myxila,  to  hear  such  things;  and,  moreover,  your 
majesty  is  saying  these  things  of  my  son:  therefore 
I  do  not  wish  to  hear  them  myself,  sir!  Excellency, 
I  request  you  once  more  to  come  with  me." 

"  Go  then !  "  shouted  the  emperor,  like  a  madman. 
"  Go,  both  of  you :  yes,  leave  me  alone,  leave  me 
alone!" 

He  walked  furiously  up  and  down,  flung  the 
chairs  one  against  the  other,  roared  like  an  angry 
caged  lion.  He  took  a  bronze  statue  from  a  bracket 
in  front  of  a  tall  mirror  that  rose  to  the  ceiling  in 
gilt  arabesques: 

"  There  then !  "  he  lashed  out,  while  his  passion 
seemed  to  seethe  mistily  in  his  bewildered  brain,  to 
shoot  red  lightning-flashes  from  his  bloodshot  eyes, 
to  drive  him  mad  because  of  his  impotence  against 
the  senseless  fate  and  logic  of  circumstance. 

Like  an  athlete  he  brandished  the  heavy  statue 


226  MAJESTY 

through  the  air ;  like  a  child  he  hurled  it  at  the  great 
mirror,  which  fell  clattering  in  a  flicker  of  shreds. 
The  empress  and  Myxila  had  left  the  room. 


The  ordinary  court-life  continued;  the  empress' 
first  drawing-room  took  place.  The  reception- 
rooms  leading  to  the  great  presence-chamber  were 
lit  up,  though  it  was  day-time;  the  ladies  entered, 
handed  their  cards  to  the  grand  chamberlain,  signed 
their  names  and  waited  until  their  titles  were  called 
out  by  the  masters  of  ceremonies.  They  stood  in 
low-necked  dresses;  the  long  white  veils  fell  in  misty 
folds  of  gauze  from  the  feathers  and.  jewelled 
tiaras.  It  was  the  first  display  of  the  new  costumes 
of  the  season,  the  fashion  which  had  sprung  into 
life  and  now  moved  and  had  its  being;  but  the 
crowded  rooms  seemed  but  the  antechambers  of 
that  display  and  the  upgathered  trains  gave  an  im- 
pression of  preparation  for  the  solemn  second,  the 
momentary  appearance  before  her  majesty. 

The  Duchess  of  Yemena  was  waiting,  her  train 
also  thrown  over  her  arm,  with  the  two  marchion- 
esses her  stepdaughters,  whom  she  was  about  to 
present  to  the  empress,  when  she  saw  Dutri,  bowing, 
apologizing,  twisting  through  the  expectant  ladies, 
to  make  way  for  himself  through  the  crowded  room : 

"  Dutri,"  she  beckoned,  as  he  did  not  seem  to 
perceive  her. 

He  reached  her  after  some  difficulty,  bowed,  paid 


MAJESTY  227 

his  compliments  to  the  little  marchionesses.  They 
stood  with  stiff  little  faces,  frightened,  round  eyes 
and  tight-closed  mouths;  and  the  lines  of  their  girl- 
ish figures  displayed  the  shyness  of  novices.  With 
an  awkward  grace,  they  kept  arranging  their  heavy 
court-trains  over  their  arms.  They  just  smiled  at 
Dutri's  words;  then  they  looked  stiff  again,  com- 
pared the  other  ladies'  dresses  with  their  own. 

"  Dutri,"  whispered  the  duchess,  "  how  is  the 
prince?  " 

"  Just  the  same,"  the  equerry  whispered  in  reply. 
"  Terribly  melancholy.  .  .  ." 

"  Dutri,"  she  murmured,  sinking  her  voice  still 
lower,  "  would  there  be  no  chance  for  me  to  see 
him?" 

Dutri  started  in  dismay: 

"  How  do  you  mean,  Alexa?     When?  " 

u  Presently,  after  the  drawing-room.   .  .   ." 

"  But  that  is  impossible,  Alexa !  The  prince  sees 
no  one  but  their  majesties  and  the  princess;  he  talks 
to  nobody,  not  even  to  his  chamberlains,  not  even 
to  us.  .  .  ." 

"  Dutri,"  she  insisted,  with  her  hand  on  his  arm, 
"  do  your  best.  Help  me.  Ask  for  an  interview 
for  me.  If  you  help  me  ...  I  will  help  you 
too.  .  .  ." 

He  looked  at  her  expectantly. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Helene  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  think  Eleonore  prettier,"  he  smiled. 

"Well,  come  to  us  oftener,  to  my  special  days; 
we  never  see  anything  of  you.  I  will  prepare  the 
duke.  .  .  ." 

She  dangled  the  rich  match  before  his  eyes:  he 


228  MAJESTY 

blinked  them,  as  he  continued  to  look  at  her  and 
smile. 

"  But  then  you  must  help  me !  "  she  continued, 
with  a  gentle  threat. 

"  I  will  do  my  best,  Alexa,  but  I  can  promise 
nothing,"  he  just  had  time  to  reply.  "  Wait  for 
me  after  the  drawing-room,  in  one  of  the  other 
rooms,"  he  whispered,  accompanying  her  for  a  few 
steps. 

All  this  time  the  titles  were  being  cried,  cere- 
moniously, slowly;  the  ladies  moved  on,  dropped 
their  trains,  blossomed  out. 

"  Her  excellency  the  Duchess  of  Yemena,  Coun- 
tess of  Vaza;  their  excellencies  the  Marchionesses  of 
Yemena.  .  .  ." 

The  duchess  moved  on,  the  girls  followed  her, 
crimson,  with  beating  hearts.  They  passed  through 
a  long  gallery,  dropping  their  trains;  at  the  door 
of  the  presence-room,  before  they  entered,  stood 
flunkeys  who  spread  out  the  heavy  court-mantles. 

"  Her  excellency  the  Duchess  of  .  .  ." 

The  titles  rang  out  for  the  second  time,  this  time 
through  the  presence-chamber  and  with  a  sound  of 
greater  reverence,  because  they  echoed  in  the  listen- 
ing ears  of  welcoming  majesty. 

The  duchess  and  the  marchionesses  entered.  Be- 
tween the  wide  hangings  of  dark-blue  velvet,  on 
which  glittered  the  cross  of  St.  Ladislas,  and  under 
the  canopy  supported  by  gilt  pillars,  sat  the  empress, 
like  an  idol,  glittering  in  the  shadow  in  her  watered- 
silver  brocade,  the  ermine  imperial  mantle  falling  in 
heavy  folds  to  her  feet,  a  small  diadem  sparkling 
upon  her  head.  To  the  right  of  the  throne,  on  a 


MAJESTY  229 

low  stool,  sat  the  Princess  Thera,  on  the  left  stood 
the  mistress  of  the  robes,  the  Countess  of  Threma; 
round  about,  on  either  side,  a  crowd  of  ladies-in- 
waiting,  court-officials,  equerries,  maids  of  honour, 
grooms  of  the  bed-chamber.  .  .  . 

The  duchess  made  her  curtsey,  approached  the 
throne  and  with  great  reverence,  as  though  with 
diffident  lips,  touched  the  jewelled  finger-tips,  which 
the  empress  held  out  like  a  live  relic.  Then  the 
duchess  took  two  steps  backwards;  the  marchion- 
esses, one  after  the  other,  followed  her  example, 
surprising  everybody  by  the  attractive  freshness  of 
their  first  court-movements,  in  which  the  touch  of 
awkwardness  became  a  charm.  Then  the  bows,  in 
a  long  ritual  of  withdrawal,  backwards.  They  dis- 
appeared through  other  doors,  found  themselves  in 
a  long  gallery,  entered  other  reception-rooms,  where 
people  stood  waiting  for  their  carriages.  And  the 
two  girls  looked  at  each  other,  seeking  each  other's 
impressions,  still  crimson  with  the  excitement  in  their 
vain  little  hearts  and  strangely  surprised  at  the  in- 
comprehensible briefness  of  this  first  and  all-im- 
portant moment  of  their  lives  as  grown-up  people, 
as  ladies  accompanying  their  mamma  to  the  Im- 
perial, where  they  would  thenceforth  lead  their  ex- 
istence. For  how  many  months  beforehand  they 
had  thought  and  dreamed  of  this  moment;  now, 
suddenly,  with  surprising  quickness,  it  was  over.  .  .  . 

The  duchess  chucked  Helene  under  the  chin,  put 
Eleonore's  veil  straight,  said  that  they  had  curtseyed 
beautifully,  that  she  had  herself  even  noticed  how 
pleased  the  Countess  of  Threma  had  been  with 
them.  Then  she  chatted  busily  with  the  other 


230  MAJESTY 

ladies,  introduced  the  little  marchionesses,  promised 
visits.  Then  she  turned  to  a  flunkey: 

"  Go  and  see  where  my  carriage  is  and  tell  it  to 
leave  the  rank  and  drive  up  last.  Here.  .  .  ." 

She  gave  him  a  gold  coin;  the  flunkey  disap- 
peared. A  nervous  impatience  seized  the  duchess; 
she  looked  out  anxiously  for  Dutri.  At  last  her  eyes 
caught  sight  of  him;  he  came  up  with  his  fatuous 
fussiness : 

"  Alexa,  it's  impossible.  .  .  ." 

u  Have  you  asked  the  prince?  " 

"  No,  not  yet;  there's  the  question,  to  begin  with, 
whether  he'll  see  me.  But  then  .  .  .  how  am  I  to 
take  you  to  him?  There  are  always  servants  hang- 
ing about  in  the  doorways,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
guards  and  halberdiers;  in  the  anterooms  you  run  up 
against  a  chamberlain  at  any  moment.  Really,  it  is 
impossible." 

She  grew  angry: 

11  Begin  by  asking  him.  We'll  see  later  how  we're 
to  get  to  him." 

Dutri  made  graceful  gestures  of  despair: 

"  But,  Alexa,  can't  you  really  understand  .  .  . 
that  it  is  impossible?  .  .  ." 

She  made  no  reply,  not  wishing  to  reflect,  her 
head  filled  with  her  stubborn  fixed  idea  to  see  the 
prince,  to  insist  on  seeing  him.  And,  suddenly, 
turning  to  him : 

"  Very  well,  if  you  don't  care  to  do  anything  for 
me,  you  needn't  think  I  shall  help  you  in  any  way." 

Her  nervous,  angry  voice  sounded  louder  than 
her  first  whispered  words :  the  two  girls  heard  her. 

"  Alexa,"  he  besought  her,  gently. 


MAJESTY  231 

11  No,  no,"  she  resisted,  curtly. 

He  thought  of  his  debts  and  of  Eleonore : 

"  I'll  try,"  he  whispered,  in  despair. 

She  promptly  rewarded  him  with  a  smile;  he 
went,  hurried  away  again,  with  his  eternal  air  of 
fussy  importance,  because  of  his  young  imperial 
master,  who  was  so  sadly  ill.  In  the  anteroom  he 
found  the  chamberlain  on  duty: 

'  Would  the  prince  be  willing  to  see  me?  " 

The  chamberlain  shrugged  his  shoulders: 

"  I'll  ask,"  he  said. 

He  speedily  returned:  the  prince  had  sent  word 
that  Dutri  could  come  in. 

Dutri  entered.  Othomar  lay  on  a  couch  covered 
with  tiger-skins,  in  front  of  his  writing-table.  He 
had  grown  thinner;  his  eyes  were  hollow,  his  com- 
plexion was  wan;  his  neck  protruded  frail  and  wasted 
from  the  loose  turn-down  collar  of  his  silk  shirt, 
over  which  he  wore  a  velvet  jacket.  In  his  hand 
he  held  an  open  book.  Djalo,  the  collie,  lay  on  the 
floor. 

Dutri  the  voluble  began  to  press  his  request  in 
rapid  sentences  following  close  upon  one  another's 
heels.  .  .  . 

"The  duchess?"  repeated  Othomar,  faintly. 
"  No,  no.  .  .  ." 

Dutri  galloped  on,  simulated  melancholy,  em- 
ployed words  of  gentle,  insinuating  sadness.  Otho- 
mar's  face  assumed  an  expression  which  was  strange 
to  it  and  quite  new :  it  was  as  though  the  melancholy 
of  his  features  were  crystallizing  into  a  stubborn 
obstinacy,  a  silent  doggedness. 

"  No,"  he  said  once  more,  while  his  voice,  too, 


232  MAJESTY 

sounded  dogged  and  obstinate.  "  Make  my  apolo- 
gies to  the  duchess,  Dutri.  And  where  .  .  .  where 
would  she  wish  to  see  me?  " 

"  I  did  not  fail  to  point  out  this  difficulty  to  her 
excellency;  but  perhaps,  if  your  highness  would  be 
so  gracious  .  .  .  one  might  nevertheless  .  .  ." 

Othomar  closed  his  eyes  and  threw  his  head  back; 
his  hand  fell  loosely  upon  the  collie's  head.  He 
made  no  further  reply  and  his  lips  were  tightly  com- 
pressed. 

Dutri  still  hesitated:  what  could  he  do,  what 
should  he  tell  Alexa?  .  .  . 

But  the  door  opened  and  the  empress  entered. 
The  drawing-room  was  over;  she  had  put  off  her 
robes  and  the  crown,  but  she  still  wore  her  stiff, 
heavy  dress  of  silver  brocade.  She  looked  coldly 
at  Dutri  and  bowed  her  head  slightly,  as  a  sign  for 
him  to  go:  the  equerry  beat  a  confused  retreat, 
without  his  usual  tact. 

Othomar  half-rose  from  his  couch: 

"  Mamma !  .  .  ." 

She  sat  down  beside  him,  stroked  his  forehead 
with  her  hand: 

"How  do  you  feel?" 

He  smiled  and  blinked  with  his  eyes,  without 
replying. 

'  What  was  Dutri  doing  here?  " 

"  He  wanted  .  .  .  Oh,  mamma,  never  mind, 
don't  ask  me!  .  .  .  How  beautiful  you  look!  May 
I,  too,  kiss  your  hand?  " 

Winningly,  jestingly  he  took  her  hand  and  kissed 
it.  She  took  his  book  from  his  fingers,  read  the 
treasonable  title: 


MAJESTY  233 

"Are  you  reading  again,  Othomar?  .  .  .  You 
know  you  mustn't  read  so  much.  And  why  all 
these  strange  books?  .  .  ." 

On  the  table  lay  Lassalle,  Marx,  works  by  Rus- 
sian nihilists,  a  pamphlet  by  Bakounine,  pamphlets  by 
Zanti.  .  .  .  The  little  work  which  he  was  reading 
was  by  a  well-known  Liparian  anarchist  and  entitled, 
Injustice  by  the  Grace  of  God;  it  overthrew  every- 
thing: religion  and  the  state;  it  addressed  itself 
directly  to  the  crowned  tyrants  in  power;  it  ad- 
dressed itself  directly  to  Oscar. 

"  Is  it  to  get  back  your  health,  Othomar,  that  you 
read  this  sort  of  thing?"  she  asked,  in  a  tone  of 
pained  reproach. 

"  But,  mamma,  I  must  see  what  it  is  that  they 
want  .  .  ." 

"  And  what  do  they  want?  " 

He  looked  pensively  before  him : 

"  I  don't  know  what  they  want,  I  can't  under- 
stand them.  They  employ  very  long  sentences,  the 
same  sentences  over  and  over  again,  with  the  same 
words  over  and  over  again.  I  can  just  make  out 
that  they  disapprove  of  everything  that  exists  and 
want  something  different.  But  yet  sometimes  .  .  ." 

"  Sometimes  what?  " 

"  Sometimes  they  say  terrible  things,  terrible  be- 
cause they  sound  so  true,  mamma.  When  they 
speak  of  God  and  prove  that  He  does  not  exist, 
when  they  describe  our  whole  system  of  government 
as  a  monstrosity  and  reject  all  authority,  including 
our  own.  .  .  .  They  sometimes  speak  like  children 
who  have  suddenly  learnt  to  talk  and  to  judge;  and 
then  sometimes  they  suddenly  speak  clearly;  and 


234  MAJESTY 

then  very  primitive  thoughts  arise  in  me :  if  God 
exists,  why  is  there  any  injustice  and  misery;  and 
our  authority:  on  what  right  is  that  founded?  O 
God,  mamma,  what  right  have  we  to  reign  over 
others,  over  millions?  Tell  me  —  but  argue  from 
the  beginning:  don't  argue  backwards;  don't  begin 
with  us :  begin  with  our  first  rulers,  our  usurpers  — 
what  right  had  they?  And  does  ours  merely  spring 
from  theirs?  Oh,  these  problems,  these  simple 
problems:  who  can  solve  them,  my  God,  who  can 
solve  them?  .  .  ." 

Elizabeth  suddenly  turned  pale.  She  stared  at 
him  as  though  he  had  gone  mad : 

'Who    gives    you    these    books?"    she    asked, 
harshly,  hoarsely,  anxiously. 

"  Dutri,  Leoni;  Andro  has  also  fetched  me  some." 
'They're  mad!"  exclaimed  the  empress,  rising. 
"  Why  do  you  ask  for  them?  " 

;'  I  want  to  know,  mamma.  ,  .  ." 

"  Othomar,"  she  cried,  "  will  you  do  what  I 
ask?" 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  he  replied,  gently,  "  but  sit  down 
again  and  .  .  .  and  don't  be  angry.  And  .  .  . 
and  don't  say  '  Othornar.'  And  .  .  .  and  go  and 
change  your  dress:  oh,  I  can't  see  you  in  that  dress; 
you  are  so  far  from  me;  your  voice  doesn't  reach 
me  and  I  daren't  kiss  you :  you  are  not  my  mother, 
you  are  the  empress  1  Mamma,  O  mamma !  .  .  ." 

His  voice  appealed  to  her.  A  powerful  emotion 
awoke  in  her. 

"  O  my  boy!  "  she  cried,  with  a  half-sob  breaking 
in  her  throat. 

"  Yes,  yes,  call  me  that.  .  .  .  Mamma,  let's  be 


MAJESTY  235 

quick  and  find  each  other  again,  let  us  not  lose  each 
other.  What  is  your  request?  " 

"  Give  me  all  those  books." 

"I  will  give  them  to  you;  they  make  me  no 
happier,  when  all  is  said!  " 

"  But  then  why  are  you  unhappy,  my  boy,  my 
boy?" 

"  Mamma,  look  at  the  world,  look  at  our  people, 
see  how  they  suffer,  see  how  they  are  oppressed! 
What  shall  I  ever  be  able  to  do  for  them !  I  shall 
always  be  powerless,  in  spite  of  all  our  power! 
Oh,  it  grows  so  dark  in  front  of  me,  I  can  see  no- 
thing more,  I  have  no  hope;  only  Utopians  have 
any  hope  left,  but  I  ...  I  no  longer  hope,  for  I 
can  do  nothing,  nothing!  .  .  .  O  my  God,  mamma, 
the  whole  country  is  falling  upon  me  and  crushing 
me  and  I  can  do  nothing,  nothing !  .  .  .  I  shall  have 
to  reign  and  I  shall  not  be  able  to,  mamma.  What 
am  I?  A  poor  sickly  boy:  how  can  I  become  em- 
peror? I  don't  know  why  it  is,  mamma,  nor  what 
it  comes  from,  but  I  don't  feel  like  a  future  em- 
peror, I  feel  like  a  feeble  child!  I  feel  like  your 
child,  your  boy,  and  nothing  more.  .  .  ." 

He  seemed  about  to  throw  himself  into  her  arms, 
but  on  the  contrary  he  flung  himself  backwards,  as 
though  he  were  frightened  by  her  brilliant  attire; 
his  head  dropped  nervelessly  on  his  chest,  his  arms 
fell  loosely  down.  She  saw  his  movement :  her 
first  feeling  was  one  of  regret  that  she  had  come 
to  him  in  court-dress,  longing  as  she  did  to  see  him, 
not  allowing  herself  the  time  to  change.  But  this 
regret  passed  through  her  as  a  transient  emotion, 
for  it  was  followed  by  an  intense  dizziness,  as  though 


236  MAJESTY 

a  yawning  abyss  opened  at  her  feet,  as  though  the 
earth  retreated  and  black  nothingness  gaped  before 
her.  A  despair  as  of  utter  impotence  enveloped 
her  soul.  Vaguely  she  stretched  out  her  arms  and 
threw  them  round  his  neck,  as  though  she  were 
groping  in  the  dark,  with  wandering  eyes : 

"  My  boy,  don't  talk  like  that  any  more,  be- 
cause .  .  .  when  you  talk  like  that,  you  take  away 
my  strength  too !  "  she  whispered,  in  alarm.  "  For 
how  can  it  be  helped?  You  must,  we  all  must  .  .  ." 

"  Forgive  me,  mamma,  but  I  ...  I  shall  not  be 
able  to.  Oh,  I  see  it  clearly  now!  I  am  not  ex- 
cited, I  am  calm.  I  see  it,  I  prophesy  it,  it  can 
never  be.  .  .  ." 

"  But  papa  is  still  so  young  and  so  strong,  my 
boy;  and,  when  you  grow  older  .  .  ." 

"  The  older  I  grow,  the  more  impossible  it  will 
be,  mamma.  I  was  always  frightened  of  it  as  a 
child,  but  I  never  realized  it  so  desperately  as  now. 
No,  mamma,  it  cannot  be.  Now  that  I  am  ill,  I 
have  plenty  of  time  to  reflect;  and  I  now  see  before 
me  what  the  end  of  all  our  trouble  is  bound  to 
be.  .  .  ." 

His  eyes  gazed  at  the 'floor  in  despair;  she  still 
half-clung  to  him,  helplessly;  a  menacing  shiver 
seemed  to  float  through  the  room. 

"Mamma.  .  .  ." 

She  made  no  response. 

"  I  must  tell  you  of  my  resolve.  .  .  ." 

"What  resolve?  .  .  ." 

"  Will  you  tell  it  to  papa  ?  " 

"What,  what,  Othomar  .  .  .  my  boy?" 

"  That  I  can't  marry  .  .  .  Valerie,  because  .  .  ." 


MAJESTY  237 

14  Later,  later :  you  needn't  marry  yet.  .  .  ." 

"  No,  mamma,  I  never  can,  because  I  ..." 

She  looked  at  him  beseechingly,  enquiringly. 

"  Because  I  want  to  abdicate  .  .  .  my  rights 
...  in  favour  of  ...  Berengar.  .  .  ." 

She  made  no  reply;  feebly  she  drooped  against 
him,  not  knowing  how  to  console  and  cheer  him,  and 
softly  and  plaintively  began  to  sob.  It  was  as 
though  her  soul  was  being  flooded  with  anguish, 
slowly  but  persistently,  until  it  brimmed  over.  She 
reproached  herself  with  it  all.  He  was  her  child: 
the  future  Emperor  of  Liparia  had  derived  this 
weakness  from  her.  And  the  manifestation  of  this 
agonizing  mystery  of  heredity  before  her  despairing 
eyes  deprived  her  of  all  her  strength,  of  all  her 
courage,  of  all  her  power  of  acquiescence  and  resig- 
nation. 

"  Mamma,"  he  repeated. 

She  sobbed  on. 

"  Don't  be  so  disconsolate.  .  .  .  Berengar  will  be 
better  than  I.  ...  You'll  tell  papa,  won't  you? 
...  Or  no,  never  mind,  if  it  costs  you  too  great  an 
effort:  I'll  tell  him  myself.  .  .  ." 

She  started  up  nervously  from  her  despair: 

"  O  my  God,  no!  Othomar,  no!  Don't  talk  to 
him  about  it :  he  is  so  passionate,  he  would  ...  he 
would  murder  you!  Promise  me  that  you  will  not 
talk  to  him  about  it !  /  will  tell  him  —  O  my  God ! 
—  /  will  tell  him.  .  .  ." 

But  a  tremor  of  hope  revived  within  her. 

"  But,  Othomar,  I  ask  you,  why  do  you  do  this? 
You  are  ill  now,  but  you  will  get  better  and  then 
.  .  .  then  you  will  think  differently!" 


23  8  MAJESTY 

He  gazed  out  before  him:  his  presentiment 
quivered  through  him;  he  saw  his  dream  again:  the 
streets  of  Lipara  filled  with  crape,  right  up  to  the 
sky,  where  it  veiled  the  sunlight.  And  over  his 
features  there  passed  again  that  new  air  of  hard- 
ness, of  dogged  obstinacy  which  made  him  unrecog- 
nizable ;  he  shook  his  head  slowly  from  side  to  side, 
from  side  to  side: 

"  No,  mamma,  I  shall  never  think  differently. 
Believe  me,  it  will  be  better  so." 

When  she  saw  him  like  that,  her  new  hope 
collapsed ,  again  and  she  sobbed  once  more.  Sob- 
bing, she  rose;  amid  her  sorrow  yawned  a  void;  she 
was  losing  something:  her  son. 

"  Are  you  going?  "  he  asked. 

She  nodded  yes,  sobbing. 

"  Do  you  forgive  me?  " 

She  nodded  yes  again.  Then  she  gave  him  a 
smile,  a  smile  full  of  despair;  lacking  the  strength 
to  kiss  him,  she  went  out,  still  sobbing. 

He  remained  alone  and  rose  from  his  couch.  He 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room;  his  eyes  stared  at 
the  collie: 

"  Why  need  I  give  her  pain !  "  he  thought. 

Everything  in  his  soul  hurt  him. 

"  Why  did  I  go  on  that  voyage  with  Herman?  " 
he  asked  himself  again.  "  It  was  in  those  first  days 
of  rest  that  I  began  to  think  so  much.  And  yet 
Professor  Barzia  says,  '  Rest! '  .  .  .  What  does  he 
know  about  me?  What  does  one  person  know 
about  another?  .  .  .  Djalo!  "  he  cried. 

The  collie  ran  up,  wriggling,  joyfully. 

"  Djalo,  what  is  right?     How  ought  the  world 


MAJESTY  239 

to  be?  Must  there  be  kings  and  emperors,  Djalo, 
or  had  we  better  all  disappear?  " 

The  dog  looked  at  him,  wagging  its  tail  violently; 
suddenly  it  jumped  up  and  licked  his  face. 

"  And  why,  Djalo,  need  one  man  always  make 
the  other  unhappy?  Why  need  princes  make  their 
people  unhappy?  Will  life  always  remain  the 
same,  for  ages  and  ages?  .  .  ." 

Othomar  sank  into  a  heap  on  the  couch;  his  hand 
fell  on  the  dog,  which  licked  it  passionately. 

"  Oh !  "  he  sobbed.  "  My  people,  my  peo- 
ple! ..  ." 

At  this  moment  the  last  carriages  were  driving 
away  in  the  fore-court  of  the  Imperial;  the  staring 
crowd,  behind  the  grenadiers,  peeped  curiously  at 
the  pretty  ladies  glistening  through  the  glass  of  the 
state-coaches.  The  Duchess  of  Yemena's  carriage 
came  last  of  all. 


A  spirit  of  gloom  seemed  to  haunt  the  ringing 
marble  halls  of  the  Imperial,  a  dim  melancholy 
to  stifle  the  cadences  of  the  voices  and  their  echoes 
and  to  hang  from  the  tall  ceilings  as  it  had  been  a 
heavy  web  of  atmosphere.  It  was  autumn;  the  first 
parties  were  to  take  place;  the  first  court-ball  was 
given.  But  it  seemed  to  be  given  because  there 
was  no  help  for  it:  it  was  a  slow,  official,  tedious 
function.  The  more  intimate  circles  of  the  Im- 
perial, those  of  the  Duchess  of  Yemena  and  the 
diplomatic  body,  regretted  the  more  select  assem- 


24o  MAJESTY 

blies  in  the  smaller  rooms  of  the  empress.  They 
looked  upon  those  great  balls  as  necessary  inflic- 
tions. The  empress'  smaller  dances,  however,  were 
always  favoured  as  most  charming  entertainments. 
But  the  empress  had  decided  that  they  should  not 
take  place,  because  of  the  illness  of  the  crown-prince. 
At  this  first  great  ball  their  majesties  appeared  only 
for  a  brief  moment,  to  take  part  in  the  imperial 
quadrille.  .  .  . 

Grey  ashes  fell  over  the  glittering  mood  of  im- 
perial festivity  which  so  short  a  time  ago  had  been 
the  usual  atmosphere  of  the  palace.  The  dinners, 
once  the  glories  of  day  after  day,  were  shortened; 
only  the  most  necessary  invitations  were  given. 
The  emperor  himself  maintained  a  constant  mood 
of  sullenness:  the  army  bill  for  the  augmentation 
of  the  active  forces  was  still  attacked  in  principle 
in  the  house  of  deputies;  and  the  emperor  was  re- 
solved at  all  costs  to  uphold  his  minister  of  war. 
Moreover,  thanks  to  the  dash  of  childishness  that 
showed  through  all  his  energy,  he  had  not  recovered 
from  his  disappointment  at  the  postponement  of  the 
Duke  of  Xara's  marriage.  He  seemed  in  a  con- 
tinual state  of  irritation  because  his  Liparian  world 
would  not  go  as  he  wanted  it  to  go. 

Neither  the  empress  nor  the  prince  himself 
thought  it  a  favourable  moment  to  communicate  the 
mournful  resolution  to  the  emperor.  But  for  this 
very  reason  the  empress  began  silently  to  cherish 
fresh  hope.  Nothing  had  been  said  yet:  the  hu- 
miliating secret  existed  only  between  her  son  and 
herself.  Humiliating,  because  what  public  reason 
could  he  allege  for  resigning  the  succession?  What 


MAJESTY  241 

pretext  would  sound  plausible  enough  to  conceal  the 
true  motive  of  weakness  and  impotence?  And  yet 
he  was  her  child  and  Oscar's!  It  seemed  to  the 
empress  unfeasible  to  communicate  Othomar's  wish 
to  his  father  and  to  tell  the  emperor  that  his  own 
son  had  no  capacity  for  government.  Oh,  what 
sacrifice  would  she  not  be  prepared  to  make,  if  only 
she  could  spare  her  child  this  humiliation !  But  was 
he  really  so  powerless  to  master  himself  and  to 
draw  himself  up,  proudly,  under  the  weight  of  what 
was  as  yet  no  more  than  a  prince's  coronet?  Had 
she  but  known  how  to  counteract  his  discourage- 
ment; but  she  had  merely  sobbed,  merely  given  way 
before  his  despair;  in  vain  had  she  sought  in  his  soul 
the  secret  spring  that  should  cause  him  to  rise 
from  the  impotence  into  which  the  languor  of  his 
reflections  had  made  him  sink.  .  .  .  And  yet  she 
felt  that  there  must  be  a  secret  spring,  because  she 
instinctively  divined  its  presence  in  the  souls  of  all 
her  equals:  it  was  the  mystery  of  their  sovereignty, 
the  reason  why  they  were  sovereigns,  the  reason  of 
their  prerogative.  She  possessed  the  adorable, 
child-like  faith  that  in  them,  the  crowned  heads, 
there  exists  a  common  essence  of  distinction  which 
raises  them  above  the  crowd:  that  single  drop  of 
sacred  blood  in  their  veins,  that  single  atom  of 
inherited  divinity,  which  sheds  lustre  through  their 
souls.  She  believed  in  their  high  exclusive  right  of 
majesty.  Because  she  believed  in  that  even  as 
she  believed  in  her  sinfulness  as  a  human  being 
and  in  the  absolution  of  her  confessor,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Lipara,  she  could  never  for  one  instant 
doubt  their  right  divine  as  rulers.  Whatever 


242  MAJESTY 

people  might  think,  or  write,  or  want  different, 
theirs  was  the  right:  of  this  she  was  certain,  as 
certain  as  of  the  Trinity.  That  Othomar  had 
doubted  the  existence  of  God  had  struck  her  as 
impious,  but  it  had  not  shattered  her  so  much  as 
his  disbelief  in  their  right.  Was  he  alone  then 
lacking  in  that  essence  of  distinction,  that  sacred 
golden  drop  of  blood,  that  divine  atom?  And,  if  he 
lacked  it,  if  he,  the  crown-prince,  lacked  majesty, 
was  this  monstrous  lack  her  fault,  the  fault  of  the 
mother  who  bore  him? 

The  suspicion  of  this  guilt  crushed  her;  and  be- 
fore she  even  dared  to  speak  to  Othomar  she  hum- 
bled herself  before  the  archbishop.  The  prelate, 
alarmed  at  these  portents  in  the  mysterious  melan- 
choly of  the  Imperial,  had  scarcely  known  how  to 
comfort  her.  After  that,  she  remained  prostrate 
for  hours  before  her  crucifix.  She  prayed  with  all 
her  soul,  prayed  for  light  for  herself  and  for  her 
son,  prayed  for  strength  and  that  the  spark  might 
descend  upon  Othomar.  When  she  had  prayed 
thus,  so  long  and  with  such  conviction,  there  came 
over  her,  like  an  afflatus  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  a  sense 
of  peace.  She  became  herself  again,  she  awaited 
events,  regained  her  credulous  fatalism,  her  convic- 
tion that  nothing  happens  but  what  must  happen 
and  is  right.  What  was  wrong  did  not  happen. 
If  it  were  fated  that  Othomar  must  receive  that 
spark,  that  would  be  right;  if  it  were  fated  that 
he  must  abdicate,  that  would  be  right  too,  O  God, 
right  with  a  strange,  inscrutable  Tightness !  .  .  . 

Because  the  days  had  passed  without  her  having 
yet  spoken  to  the  emperor,  she  hoped  anew;  she 


MAJESTY  243 

hoped  that  Othomar  would  be  his  old  self  again  and 
no  longer  seek  his  own  degradation.  But  it  was 
as  though  she  hoped  in  spite  of  everything;  for, 
each  time  that  she  now  saw  Othomar,  she  found 
him  duller  and  more  exhausted,  more  helpless  be- 
neath the  certainty  of  his  weakness.  Professor 
Barzia,  who  treated  the  prince  personally  and  twice 
a  day  gave  him  his  cold-water  douche  in  the  palace, 
seemed  to  be  least  uneasy  about  Othomar's  physical 
weakness.  The  prince  was  not  robust,  but  the  pro- 
fessor divined  in  his  delicate  constitution  the  pre- 
sence of  the  element  that  had  sprung  from  the  first 
rough,  sensual  strength  of  the  Czyrkiski  race:  the 
Slavonic  element,  which  had  become  enervated 
through  its  Latin  admixtures,  but  had  lingered 
on;  a  secret  toughness,  an  indestructible  factor  of 
unsuspected  firmness,  which  lay  deep  down,  like  a 
foundation,  and  upon  which  much  seemed  to  be 
built  that  was  very  slender  and  fragile.  What  had 
once  been  rude  strength  the  professor  believed  he 
had  discovered  in  a  certain  toughness;  what  had 
been  cruelty  and  lust,  in  a  certain  enervation,  which 
had  hitherto  been  held  in  check  by  self-restraint  and 
a  spontaneous  sense  of  duty,  but  which  now  suddenly 
revealed  itself  in  this  excessive  lassitude.  Barzia 
distinctly  perceived  in  Othomar  the  scion  of  his  an- 
cestors; and  he  considered  that,  though  the  rich 
physical  vigour  of  the  original  sovereign  blood  had 
become  refined,  as  if  it  were  now  flowing  more 
thinly  through  feebler  veins,  yet  that  blood  was  not 
so  impoverished  that  the  delicacy  of  this  future 
emperor  need  be  ascribed  to  racial  exhaustion. 
Possibly  Barzia's  sudden  affection  for  the  prince 


244  MAJESTY 

tinged  this  physiological  diagnosis  with  excessive  op- 
timism; at  any  rate,  the  professor  had  not  the  least 
fear  of  this  fragility,  or  even  of  this  nervous  weak- 
ness. What  he  did  fear  was  lest  those  mental  quali- 
ties which  had  so  suddenly  endeared  the  prince  to  him 
should  not  be  able  to  maintain  themselves  during 
this  period  of  fatigue  and  exhaustion.  Spontane- 
ous, unreflected,  uncalculated  he  knew  those  virtues 
to  be  in  the  prince,  as  it  were  a  treasure  unknown 
to  himself:  would  they  be  lost,  now,  in  these  mourn- 
ful days,  or  would  they  remain,  perhaps  develop, 
become  more  and  more  refined,  make  up  to  Othomar 
in  moral  strength  for  what  he  lacked  in  physical 
strength  and  in  this  way  cure  him?  For  the  pro- 
fessor knew  it:  these  qualities  alone  could  effect  a 
cure.  .  .  . 

Othomar  himself  thought  neither  of  his  virtues 
nor  of  his  blood:  he  thought  of  his  future  and 
thought  of  it  with  an  hourly-increasing  dread. 
When  the  empress  asked  Barzia  whether  this  rest 
would  be  good  for  the  prince  and  whether  distrac- 
tion would  not  be  better,  the  professor  declared  that 
the  prince  had  had  plenty  of  distraction  lately.  He 
must  first  get  over  his  fatigue,  get  over  it  entirely; 
it  mattered  less  with  what  the  prince  kept  his  brain 
occupied  for  the  moment.  .  .  . 

But  Barzia  did  not  mean  this  altogether  and 
would  doubtless  have  been  very  far  from  meaning 
it  at  all,  had  he  known  of  what  the  prince  was 
thinking,  or  been  fully  able  to  judge  his  utter  lack 
of  mental  elasticity. 

And  the  days  passed  by.  Othomar  did  not  men- 
tion his  resolution  to  the  empress  again,  desiring  to 


MAJESTY  245 

give  her  as  little  pain  as  possible;  neither  did  the 
empress  allude  to  it:  she  hoped  on. 

But  in  Othomar's  meditations  it  revolved  in- 
cessantly, like  a  wheel :  he  was  able  to,  do  nothing 
for  his  people  and  yet  he  loved  them;  he  did  not 
know  how  to  govern  them,  he  would  abdicate  his 
rights  and  his  title  of  crown-prince :  Berengar  should 
become  Duke  of  Xara.  .  .  . 

The  small  prince  came  and  paid  his  brother  a 
short  visit  every  morning;  he  always  wore  his  little 
uniform,  looking  like  a  sturdy  little  general  in  mini- 
ature, and  Othomar  watched  him  with  a  smile. 

Was  there  no  wish  to  rule  in  the  boy's  medieval 
little  brain,  was  there  no  jealousy  in  his  passionate 
little  heart?  Othomar  remembered  the  history  of 
Liparia,  in  the  cruel  times  of  their  early  middle- 
ages,  that  terrible  drama  —  they  still  showed  at  St. 
Ladislas  the  chamber  where  it  had  been  enacted  — 
that  second  son  stabbing  his  elder  brother  in  his  lust 
for  the  crown  and  hurling  the  corpse  from  an  oriel 
window  into  the  Zanthos,  which  flowed  beneath  the 
fortress.  What  had  the  boy  inherited  of  this  rivalry? 
And,  though  this  rivalry  had  been  wholly  refined 
into  less  salient  feelings,  would  not  an  immense 
happiness  enter  Berengar's  small  princely  soul 
if  he  were  to  learn  that  he  might  be  crown-prince 
now  and  that  one  day  he  would  be  ...  em- 
peror? But  what  would  the  boy  think  of  him, 
Othomar,  for  giving  away  all  this  magnificence  of  his 
own  free  will?  Would  he  despise  him,  while  yet 
feeling  grateful  to  him,  or  would  he  cherish  mistrust, 
suspecting  a  lurking  mystery  behind  all  this  great- 
ness, which  Othomar  cast  from  him?  .  .  . 


246  MAJESTY 

At  such  times  Othomar  would  draw  the  little  fel- 
low to  him  with  silent  compassion,  but  would  take 
pleasure  in  feeling  the  firm  muscles  of  his  sturdy  little 
arms  and  listening  to  his  short,  crisp  little  speeches. 
Then  Berengar  rode  away  and  Djalo  was  allowed 
to  run  with  him  through  the  park:  in  an  hour  he 
would  bring  the  dog  back  to  Othomar  and  talk  with 
great  importance  of  his  lessons,  which  were  just 
beginning. 

And,  when  Berengar  had  gone,  Othomar  lay 
thinking  about  him  in  his  long  hours  of  reverie, 
already  looked  upon  his  brother  as  actually  crown- 
prince,  erased  his  own  name  from  the  list  of  future 
sovereigns,  thought  of  what  he  would  do  when  he 
was  cured  and  had  shaken  off  the  last  remnant  of 
his  purple,  remembered  his  uncle  Xaverius,  who  was 
the  abbot  of  a  monastery,  and  pictured  himself 
studying,  compiling  works  on  history  and  socio- 
logy. .  .  . 


These  were  autumn  days.  The  sunny  blue  of  the 
sky  was  often  clouded  with  grey;  in  the  morning 
the  winds  blew  from  the  north,  blew  over  the  sea 
till  it  became  the  colour  of  steel;  then  the  sun 
broke  through  and  shone  very  warmly  for  a  couple 
of  hours,  with  an  occasional  cold  blast,  suddenly 
and  treacherously  rushing  round  the  corners  of  the 
streets;  then,  at  four  or  half-past  four  o'clock,  the 
sun  was  extinguished  and  the  pale  sky  was  left 
exhaling  its  icy  chillness  on  the  open  harbour,  be- 
tween the  white  palaces,  in  the  streets  and  squares. 


MAJESTY  247 

It  was  a  treacherous  time  of  year:  the  empress 
and  Berengar  had  caught  cold  driving  in  an  open 
carriage;  they  both  kept  their  rooms  and  Othomar 
in  his  turn  went  to  visit  them;  the  empress  was 
coughing,  the  little  prince  had  a  temperature;  there 
was  never  so  much  illness  about  as  now,  the  doctors 
declared.  And  a  melancholy  continued  to  brood 
through  the  halls  of  the  Imperial,  through  the  whole 
town,  where  the  imperial  family  were  no  longer  seen 
at  the  opera  and  at  parties.  Never  had  the  daily 
dinners  at  the  Imperial  been  so  short,  with  so  few 
guests;  and  it  made  an  insurmountably  sad  impres- 
sion not  to  see  the  empress  seated  next  to  the  em- 
peror, delicate,  distinguished,  august,  but  in  her 
stead  the  Princess  Thera,  who  seemed  quite  in- 
capable of  bringing  a  smile  to  Oscar's  grim  and 
peevish  features. 

Othomar  did  not  even  know  that  those  about  the 
empress  were  anxious  on  her  behalf:  she  always 
received  him  with  all  the  cheerfulness  that  she 
could  muster,  in  spite  of  the  pain  on  her  chest;  the 
doctors  told  him  nothing,  no  one  gave  him  the 
bulletins,  every  one  tried  to  spare  him;  and  besides 
there  was  really  less  anxiety  in  the  Imperial  than 
in  the  town  and  throughout  the  country.  But  the 
little  prince  received  Othomar  with  less  meekness 
than  did  the  empress;  and  every  day  there  were 
silent  rages,  sulking  displays  against  the  doctors  for 
keeping  him  in  bed. 

Once,  when  the  crown-prince  came  to  see  Beren- 
gar, the  doctors  were  with  him;  the  fever  had  in- 
creased, but  the  little  prince  wanted  to  get  out  of 
bed;  he  was  naughty,  used  ugly  names,  had  even 


248  MAJESTY 

struck  the  good-natured,  big-headed  doctor  and 
pummelled  him  with  his  little  clenched  fist. 

"  As  soon  as  you're  better,  Berengar,"  said  Otho- 
mar,  after  first  reproving  him,  "  I  shall  make  you  a 
present." 

"  What  of?  "  asked  the  boy,  eagerly.  "  But  I 
am  better  now!  " 

"  No,  no,  you  must  do  what  the  doctors  tell  you 
and  not  vex  them." 

"And  what  will  you  give  me  then?" 

Othomar  looked  at  him  long  and  firmly. 

"What  shall  I  have  then?"  repeated  the  child. 

"  I  mustn't  tell  you  yet,  Berengar;  it's  really 
rather  big  for  you  still." 

'What  is  it  then?     Ahorse?" 

"  No,  it's  not  as  big  as  a  horse,  but  heavier. 
Don't  ask  any  more  about  it  and  also  don't  try  and 
guess  what  it  is,  but  be  obedient:  then  you'll  get 
better  and  then  you  shall  have  it." 

"Heavier  than  a  horse  and  not  so  big!  .  .  ." 
Berengar  pondered,  with  glowing  cheeks. 

With  his  head  bowed  on  his  breast,  dragging  his 
footsteps,  Othomar  returned  to  his  room.  He 
stayed  there  for  hours,  sitting  silently,  gloomily, 
in  the  same  attitude;  as  usual,  he  did  not  appear  at 
dinner  and  hardly  ate  what  Andro  brought  him. 
Then  he  went  to  lie  down  on  his  couch,  took  up  a 
book  to  read,  but  put  it  down  again  and  raised  him- 
self up,  as  though  with  a  sudden  impulse : 

"  Why  not  now?  "  he  thought.  "  Why  keep  on 
postponing  it?  .  .  ." 

Night  fell,  but  the  upper  corridors  of  the  palace 
were  not  yet  lighted;  dragging  his  fatigue  through 


MAJESTY  249 

this  dusky  shadow,  Othomar  went  to  the  emperor's 
anterooms.     The  chamberlain  announced  him. 

Oscar  sat  at  his  writing-table,  pen  in  hand. 

"  Am  I  disturbing  you,  papa  ?  Or  can  I  speak 
to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  you're  not  disturbing  me.  .  .  .  Have  you 
been  to  see  mamma?  " 

'Yes,  this  afternoon;  she  was  pretty  well,  but 
Berengar's  temperature  was  higher." 

The  emperor  glanced  up  at  him : 
'  Worse  than  this  morning?  " 

"  I  don't  know:  he  was  rather  feverish." 

The  emperor  rose: 

"  Do  you  want  to  talk  to  me?  " 
1  Yes,  papa." 

'  Wait  a  moment,  then.  I've  not  been  to  Beren- 
gar  yet  to-day." 

He  went  out,  leaving  the  door  ajar. 

Othomar  remained  alone.  He  sat  down.  He 
looked  round  the  great  work-room,  which  he  knew 
so  well  from  their  morning  consultations  with  the 
chancellor.  Lately,  however,  he  had  not  attended 
these.  He  thought  over  what  he  should  say;  mean- 
while his  eyes  wandered  around;  they  fell  upon  the 
great  mirror  with  its  gilt  arabesques;  something 
seemed  strange  to  him.  Then  he  rose  and  walked 
up  to  the  glass: 

"  I  was  under  the  impression  there  was  a  flaw 
near  the  top  of  it,"  he  thought.  "  I  can't  well  be 
mistaken.  Has  it  been  renewed?  " 

He  was  still  standing  by  the  looking-glass,  when 
Oscar  returned: 

"  Berengar  is  not  at  all  well;  the  fever  is  in- 


250  MAJESTY 

creasing,"  he  said;  and  the  tone  of  his  voice  hesi- 
tated. "  Mamma  is  with  him.  .  .  ." 

Absorbed  as  he  was  in  his  own  meditations,  it 
did  not  strike  Othomar  that  the  little  prince  must 
have  become  worse  for  the  empress,  who  was  her- 
self ill,  to  go  to  him. 

"  And  about  what  did  you  want  to  speak  to  me?  " 
asked  the  emperor,  as  the  prince  remained  silent. 

"  About  Berengar,  papa." 

"About  Berengar?" 

"  About  Berengar  and  myself.  I  have  been  con- 
trasting myself  with  him,  papa.  We  are  brothers, 
we  are  both  your  sons.  Which  of  us,  do  you  think, 
takes  most  after  you  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  our  ances- 
tors?" 

'What  are  you  driving  at,  Othomar?" 

"  At  what  is  right,  papa :  right  and  just.  Nature 
is  sometimes  unjust  and  blind;  she  ought  to  have 
let  Berengar  be  born  first  and  me  next  ...  or  even 
left  me  out  altogether." 

"  Once  more,  what  are  you  driving  at,  Otho- 
mar?" 

"  Can't  you  see,  papa?  I  will  tell  you.  Is 
Berengar  not  more  of  a  monarch  than  I  am?  Is 
that  not  why  he's  your  favourite?  And  ought  I  to 
deprive  him  of  his  natural  rights  for  the  sake  of 
my  traditional  rights?  I  want  to  abdicate  in  his 
favour,  papa.  I  want  to  abdicate  everything,  all 
my  rights." 

"  The  boy's  mad,"  muttered  Oscar. 

"  All  my  rights,"  repeated  Othomar,  dreamily, 
as  though  he  foresaw  the  future:  his  little  brother 
crowned. 


MAJESTY  251 

"  Othomar,  are  you  raving?  "  asked  the  emperor. 

"  Papa,  I  am  not  raving.  What  I  am  now  tell- 
ing you  I  have  thought  over  for  days,  perhaps 
weeks;  I  don't  know:  time  passes  so  quickly.  .  .  . 
What  I  am  telling  you  I  have  discussed  with 
mamma:  it  made  her  cry,  but  she  did  not  oppose 
me.  She  looks  at  it  as  I  do.  ...  And  what  I  tell 
you  holds  good;  I  have  made  up  my  mind  and 
nothing  can  make  me  change  it.  ...  I  am  fond  of 
Berengar;  I  am  glad  to  give  up  everything  to  him; 
and  I  shall  pray  that  he  may  become  happy  through 
my  gift.  I  am  convinced  —  and  so  are  you  —  that 
Berengar  will  make  a  better  emperor  than  I.  What 
talent  do  I  possess  for  ruling?  .  .  ." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  helplessness,  with  a 
nervous  shudder  that  jolted  them: 

"  None,"  he  answered  himself.  "  I  have  no 
talent,  I  can  do  nothing.  I  do  not  know  how  to 
decide  —  as  now  —  nor  how  to  act;  I  shall  always 
be  a  dreamer.  Why  then  should  I  be  emperor 
and  he  nothing  more  than  the  commander-in-chief 
of  my  army  or  my  fleet?  Surely  that  can't  be  right; 
that  can't  have  been  what  nature  intended.  .  .  . 
Papa,  I  give  it  him,  my  birthright,  and  I  ...  I 
shall  know  how  to  live,  if  I  must.  .  .  ." 

The  emperor  had  listened  to  him  with  his  elbows 
on  the  table  and  his  hands  under  his  chin  and  now 
sat  staring  at  him  with  his  small,  pinched  eyes : 

"  Do  you  mean  all  this?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  papa." 

"  You're  not  delirious?  " 

"  No,  papa,  I'm  not  delirious." 

"  Then  you're  mad." 


252  MAJESTY 

The  emperor  rose  : 

"  Then  you're  mad,  I  tell  you.  Othomar,  realize 
that  you're  mad  and  return  to  your  senses;  don't 
become  quite  insane." 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  insane,  papa?  Can't  you 
agree  with  me  that  Berengar  would  be  better 
than  I?" 

His  father's  cruel  glances  stabbed  Othomar 
through  and  through: 

"No,  you're  not  insane  in  that;  you're  right 
there.  .  .  ." 

"  And  why,  then,  am  I  insane  because  I  wish,  for 
that  reason,  to  abdicate  in  his  favour?  " 

"  Because  it's  impossible,  Othomar." 

"  What  law  prevents  me?  " 

"  My  will,  Othomar." 

The  prince  drew  himself  up  proudly: 

"Your  will?"  he  cried.  "Your  will?  You 
acknowledge  that  I  am  nothing  of  a  prince  except 
by  birth?  You  acknowledge  that  Berengar  does 
possess  your  capacity  for  ruling  and  you  will  not, 
you  will  not  have  me  abdicate?  And  you  think  that 
I  shall  fall  in  with  that  will?  .  .  ." 

He  uttered  a  hoarse  laugh: 

"  No,  papa,  I  shall  pay  no  heed  to  that  will. 
You  can  carry  through  your  will  in  everything,  but 
not  in  this.  Though  you  called  out  your  whole 
army,  you  could  not  prevail  against  me  here. 
There  is  a  limit  to  the  power  of  human  will,  papa, 
and  nothing,  nothing,  nothing  can  prevent  me  from 
considering  myself  unfit  to  reign  and  from  refusing 
to  wear  a  crown !  " 


MAJESTY  253 

The  emperor  seized  Othomar's  wrists;  his  hot 
breath  hissed  in  Othomar's  face: 

'  You  damned  cub !  "  he  snarled  between  his 
large,  white  teeth.  "  You  wretched  nincompoop ! 
You're  right:  there's  nothing  of  the  emperor  in  you; 
there  never  will  be.  If  I  didn't  know  better,  I'd 
say  you  were  the  son  of  a  footman.  You're  right, 
you're  incompetent.  You're  nothing:  our  crown 
doesn't  fit  you.  And  yet,  though  I  had  to  lock 
you  up  in  a  prison,  so  that  no  one  might  hear  of 
your  baseness,  you  shall  not  abdicate  your  rights. 
My  will  extends  farther  than  you  can  see.  Do  you 
hear?  You  sha'n't  do  it,  you  sha'n't  resign,  though 
from  this  moment  onwards  I  have  to  hide  you,  as 
a  disgrace,  from  the  world.  Your  slack  brain  can't 
understand  that,  can  it?  You  can't  understand  that 
I'm  fonder  of  Berengar  than  of  a  poltroon  like 
you  and  that  nevertheless  I  won't  have  him  as  my 
successor  in  your  stead?  Then  I  shall  have  to  tell 
you.  I  won't  have  it,  so  as  not  to  let  the  world 
see  the  degeneration  of  our  race..  I  will  not  have 
the  world  know  how  pitiably  we  have  deteriorated 
in  you;  and  I  would  rather  ...  I  would  rather 
murder  you  than  allow  you  to  abdicate !  " 

Fiercely  Oscar  took  the  prince  by  his  shoulders, 
pushed  him  backwards  on  a  couch,  on  which  Otho- 
mar  sank  in  a  huddled  attitude,  while  his  father 
continued  to  hold  him  like  a  prey  in  the  grip  of  his 
strong  hands: 

"  But  I  tell  you,"  continued  the  emperor,  "  I 
tell  you,  you  are  not  the  son  of  a  footman,  you  are 
my  son;  and  I  shall  not  murder  you,  because  I  am 


254  MAJESTY 

your  father.  I  will  only  say  this  to  you,  Othomar: 
you  might  have  spared  me  this.  I  believe  you  have 
a  high  opinion  of  your  own  delicacy  of  feeling,  but 
you  have  not  the  very  least  feeling.  You  do  not 
even  feel  that  you  have  been  contemplating  a  vil- 
lainy, the  villainy  of  a  proletarian,  a  slave,  a  pariah, 
a  wretch.  You  have  not  felt  even  for  an  instant 
the  pain  you  would  cause  me  by  such  an  infamy. 
You  saw  that  I  was  fonder  of  your  brother;  you 
thought  that  I  should  approve  of  your  cowardly 
proposal.  Not  for  a  moment  did  the  thought  occur 
to  you  that,  with  that  cowardice  of  yours,  you  would 
give  me  the  greatest  pain  that  I  could  ever  experi- 
ence! .  .  ." 

Othomar,  utterly  crushed,  had  fallen  back  upon 
the  couch.  He  was  no  longer  able  to  distinguish 
what  was  just  and  what  was  true;  he  no  longer 
knew  himself  at  that  minute;  his  father's  words 
lashed  his  soul  like  whips.  And  he  felt  no  strength 
within  him  to  resist  them:  the  insulting  reproaches 
kept  him  down,  as  though  he  had  been  thrashed. 
Infamy  and  disgrace,  insanity  and  degeneration:  he 
collapsed  beneath  them;  he  gulped  down  the  mud 
of  them,  till  he  felt  like  suffocating.  And  that  he 
did  not  suffocate  and  continued  to  breathe,  con- 
tinued to  live,  that  the  light  was  bright  around  him, 
that  things  remained  unchanged,  that  the  outside 
world  knew  nothing:  all  this  was  despair  to  him. 
For  a  moment  he  thought  of  his  mother.  But  he 
wished  for  darkness,  for  death,  to  hide  himself, 
himself  and  his  shame,  his  degeneration,  the  leprosy 
of  his  pariah-temperament.  ...  It  flashed  through 
him  in  the  second  after  that  last  lash  of  reproach, 


MAJESTY  25$ 

flashed  across  his  despondent  soul.  He  knew  that 
Oscar  always  kept  a  loaded  revolver  in  an  open 
pigeon-hole  of  his  writing-table.  His  brain  grew 
tense  in  the  effort  of  thinking  how  to  reach  it.  He 
rose,  approached  the  pigeon-hole;  suddenly  he 
sprang  towards  it,  stretched  out  his  hand  and  seized 
the  pistol.  .  .  . 

Did  Oscar  believe  that  his  son  had  been  driven 
mad  by  his  last  words  and  now  wanted  his  father's 
life?  Did  he  perceive  this  ecstasy  of  suicide  in  his 
offspring,  was  his  quivering  brain  penetrated  by  the 
horrible  thought  that  self-destruction  would  be  the 
pariah's  last  refuge?  Be  this  as  it  might,  he  rushed 
at  Othomar.  But  the  prince  lightly  leapt  out  of 
his  reach,  pointed  the  revolver,  with  wild  eyes,  with 
distorted  features,  in  senseless  despair,  upon  him- 
self, upon  his  own  forehead,  on  which  the  veins 
swelled  blue.  .  .  . 

"  Othomar !  "  roared  the  emperor. 

At  this  moment  hurried  footsteps  were  heard  out- 
side, confused  words  sounded  in  the  anteroom  and 
the  Marquis  of  Xardi,  the  emperor's  aide-de-camp, 
alarmed  and  flurried,  threw  the  door  wide  open.  .  .  . 

"  Sir !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  The  empress  asks  if 
your  majesty  will  come  to  Prince  Berengar  this  in- 
stant. .  .  ." 

The  shot  had  gone  off,  into  the  wall.  Blood 
dripped  from  Othomar's  ear.  The  emperor  had 
caught  hold  of  the  crown-prince  and  torn  the  re- 
volver, still  loaded  in  five  chambers,  from  him;  a 
second  shot  went  off  in  that  brief  moment  of 
struggle,  into  the  ceiling,  Qthomar  remained  stand- 
ing vacantly. 


256  MAJESTY 

"Marquis!"  the  emperor  hissed  out  at  Xardi. 
"  I  don't  know  what  you  think,  but  I  tell  you  this : 
you've  seen  nothing,  you  think  nothing.  What  hap- 
pened here  before  you  came  in  ...  did  not  hap- 
pen." 

He  pointed  his  finger,  threateningly  at  Xardi: 

"  Should  you  ever  forget,  marquis,  that  it  did  not 
happen,  then  I  shall  forget  who  you  are,  though 
your  pedigree  dates  back  farther  than  ours  1  " 

Xardi  stood  deathly  pale  before  his  emperor : 

"My  God,  sir!  .  .  ." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  entering  your  sovereign's 
room  in  this  unmannerly  fashion?  Even  the  Duke 
of  Xara  has  himself  announced,  marquis !  " 

"  Sir  .  .  ." 

"What?     Speak  up!  .  .  ." 

"  Her  majesty  .  .  ." 

"Well,  her  majesty?" 

"  Prince  Berengar  .  .  .  the  fever  has  increased 
...  he  is  delirious,  sir,  and  the  doctors  .  .  ." 

The  emperor  turned  pale: 

"  Is  he  dead?  "  he  asked,  fiercely.  "  Tell  me  at 
once." 

"  Not  dead,  sir,  but  .  .  ." 

"But  what?" 

"  But  the  doctors  .  .  .  have  no  hope.  .  .  ." 

With  an  oath  of  anguish  the  emperor  pushed  the 
aide  aside  and  darted  out  of  the  room. 

The  prince  remained  standing.  Life)  returned 
to  him :  a  reality  full  of  anguish,  born  of  nightmare. 
His  eyes  swam  with  tears: 

"  Xardi,"  he  implored,  "  Xardi  .  .  .  your  house 


MAJESTY  257 

has  always  been  loyal  to  our  house;  swear  to  me 
that  you  will  be  silent." 

The  marquis  looked  at  the  crown-prince  in  con- 
sternation : 

"  Highness  .  .  ." 

"  Swear  to  me,  Xardi." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  highness,"  said  the  aide,  sub- 
dued ;  and  he  stretched  out  his  fingers  to  the  crucifix 
hanging  on  the  wall. 

Othomar  pressed  his  hand: 

"  Did  Prince  Berengar  .  .  ."  He  could  scarcely 
speak.  "  Did  Prince  Berengar  become  so  ill  sud- 
denly? .  .  ." 

"  The  fever  is  increasing  every  moment,  high- 
ness, and  he  is  delirious.  .  .  ." 

"  I  will  go  to  him,"  said  Othomar. 

He  wiped  the  blood  from  his  ear  with  his  hand- 
kerchief and  held  the  cambric,  which  was  at  once 
soaked  through,  against  it. 

In  the  last  anteroom  he  passed  the  chamberlain 
and  looked  at  him  askance. 

Xardi  stopped  for  a  moment : 

"  The  Duke  of  Xara  has  hurt  himself  slightly," 
he  said.  "  He  was  examining  the  emperor's  re- 
volver when  I  went  in  and  he  started:  two  shots 
went  off." 

"  I  heard  them,"  whispered  the  chamberlain,  pale 
as  death. 

"  There  might  have  been  an  accident.  .  .  ." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment;  their  glances 
were  full  of  understanding;  a  shudder  crept  down 
their  backs.  The  chill  night  seemed  to  be  descend- 


258  MAJESTY 

ing  over  the  palace  as  with  clouds  of  evil  omen. 

"And  ...  the  little  prince?  .  .  ."  asked  the 
chamberlain,  shivering. 

Xardi  shrugged  his  shoulders;  his  eyes  grew 
moist,  through  innate,  immemorial  love  for  his 
sovereigns : 

"  Dying,"  he  answered,  faintly. 


The  crown-prince  passed  through  the  anteroom: 
one  of  the  doctors  stood  dipping  poultices  into  a 
basin  of  ice;  a  valet  was  bringing  in  a  pail  of  fresh 
ice.  The  door  of  the  bedroom  was  open  and  Otho- 
mar  remained  standing  at  the  door.  The  little 
prince  lay  on  his  camp-bed,  talking  in  a  low,  sing- 
song tone ;  the  empress,  pale,  suffering,  bearing  up 
in  spite  of  everything,  sat  beside  him  with  Princess 
Thera. 

The  emperor  exchanged  brief  words  with  the 
two  other  doctors,  whose  features  were  overcast 
with  a  stark  hopelessness;  a  mordant  anguish  dis- 
torted Oscar's  face,  which  became  furrowed  with 
deep  wrinkles: 

"  My  God,  he  doesn't  know  me,  he  doesn't  know 
me !  "  Othomar  heard  the  emperor  complain. 

"  Nor  me,"  murmured  the  empress. 

"What  can  it  be?  What,  what,  what  can  it 
be?"  sang  the  little  prince;  and  his  usually  shrill 
little  voice  sounded  soft  as  a  bird's  melody:  it  was 
as  though  he  were  playing  by  himself.  "  I'm  to 
have  a  present  from  my  brother,  from  my  brother, 
something  nice !  "  he  sang  on. 


MAJESTY  259 

The  empress  could  distinguish  his  words,  but  she 
did  not  understand;  and  when  he  went  on  to  sing 
the  name  of  the  crown-prince,  with  his  title: 

"  Othomar,  O  Othomar  of  Xara,  of  Xara !  .  .  ." 
she  turned  to  the  door  and  gently  implored: 

"Othomar,  he's  calling  your  name;  come,  per- 
haps he  will  know  you !  " 

Othomar  approached;  he  went  past  the  emperor 
and  knelt  down  by  the  bed ;  a  smile  lit  up  Berengar's 
little  face. 

"  He  is  becoming  calmer,"  said  the  kind  doctor, 
whose  tears  were  running  down  his  cheeks,  to  Oscar. 
'*  Does  your  majesty  see?  The  prince  recognizes 
his  highness  the  duke.  .  .  ." 

A  note  of  gladness  sounded  in  his  voice. 

But  a  violent  jealousy  distorted  the  emperor's 
features: 

"  No,  no,"  he  said. 

"  Certainly,  sir,  only  look,"  the  doctor  insisted, 
his  hope  reviving. 

"  O  Othomar,  O  Othomar  of  Xara !  "  sang  the 
little  prince:  he  had  recognized  his  brother,  but 
did  not  see  him  in  the  flesh,  saw  him  only  in  his 
waking  dream,  through  the  mist  of  his  fever. 

"What  do  you  bring  me  that's  nice?  Smaller 
than  a  horse,  but  heavier?  Heavier?  Oh,  how 
heavy  it  is,  how  heavy,  heavy,  heavy!  .  .  ." 

His  little  voice  came  as  though  with  an  effort,  as 
though  he  were  lifting  something;  his  convulsive, 
small,  broad  hands  made  a  gesture  of  laborious 
lifting. 

"  Berengar,"  said  the  crown-prince;  and  his  voice 
broke,  his  heart  sank  within  him.  .  .  . 


260  MAJESTY 

11  Othomar,"  replied  the  child. 

A  cry  of  anguish  escaped  the  emperor. 

"  Yes,  you're  always  so  good  to  me,"  continued 
the  little  prince  in  his  sing-song.  '  You  always  give 
me  such  nice  things.  You  know,  those  lovely  guns 
on  my  last  birthday?  And  that  pistol?  But 
mamma's  afraid  of  that!  .  .  .  Are  you  dying, 
Othomar?  Look,  there's  blood  on  your  ear.  .  .  . 
But  when  people  bleed  they  die !  Are  you  dying, 
Othomar?  Look,  blood  on  your  coat.  .  .  ." 

The  empress  remained  sitting  straight  upright; 
she  glared  from  Berengar  at  the  bleeding  wound 
of  her  eldest  son.  .  .  . 

"  Blood,  blood,  blood!  "  sang  Berengar.  "  Otho- 
mar is  dying!  Yes,  he  always  gives  me  so  many 
nice  things,  does  Othomar.  I  have  so  many  al- 
ready, many  more  than  all  the  other  children  of 
Liparia  put  together!  And  what  am  I  to  have 
now?  .  .  .  Still  more?  .  .  .  That  nice  thing:  what 
is  it?  I  can  feel  it:  it's  so  heavy;  but  I  can't  see 
it.  .  .  ." 

The  doctor  had  come  from  the  anteroom  and 
approached  with  the  poultices. 

"I  can't  see  it!  ...  I  can't  see  it!  .  .  ."  the 
boy  sang  out,  painfully  and  faintly. 

When  the  doctor  applied  the  poultices,  Berengar 
struggled,  began  to  cry,  as  though  a  great  sorrow 
was  springing  up  in  his  little  heart : 

"  I  can't  see  it !  "  he  sobbed.  "  I  shall  never 
see  it!  .  .  ." 

A  violent  paroxysm  succeeded  the  sobbing:  he 
struck  out  wildly  with  his  arms,  pulled  off  the  poul- 


MAJESTY  261 

tices,  threw  the  ice  off  his  head,  stood  up  mad-eyed 
in  his  bed,  flung  away  the  sheets.  .  .  .  Othomar 
rose,  the  empress  also.  The  emperor  sat  in  a  chair, 
his  face  covered  with  his  hands,  and  sobbed  by 
Princess  Thera's  side.  The  doctors  approached  the 
bed,  endeavoured  to  calm  Berengar,  but  he  struck 
them:  the  fever  mounted  into  his  little  brain  in 
madness. 

At  this  moment  Professor  Barzia  entered:  he 
was  not  staying  in  the  palace ;  he  had  been  sent  for 
at  his  hotel. 

'What  is  your  highness  doing  here?"  he  said, 
point-blank,  to  Othomar. 

The  crown-prince  made  no  reply. 
'  Your  highness  will  retire  to  your  own  rooms 
at  once,"  the  professor  commanded. 

"  Save  my  boy !  "  exclaimed  the  emperor,  broken, 
sobbing. 

"  I  am  saving  the  crown-prince  first,  sir :  he  is 
killing  himself  here !  " 

'  Very  well,  but  next  save  him!"  shouted  Oscar, 
fiercely. 

The  other  doctors  had  given  orders:  a  tub  was 
brought  in,  filled  with  lukewarm  water,  regulated  by 
a  thermometer.  .  .  .  But  Othomar  saw  no  more : 
he  rushed  away,  driven  out  by  Barzia's  stern  glances. 
He  rushed  along  the  corridors,  through  a  group  of 
officers  and  chamberlains,  who  stood  anxiously 
whispering  and  made  way  for  him.  He  plunged 
into  his  own  room,  which  was  not  lighted.  In  the 
dark,  he  thought  he  was  flinging  himself  upon  a 
couch,  but  bumped  upon  tl^e  ground.  There  he 


262  MAJESTY 

remained  lying.  Then,  as  though  crushed  by  the 
darkness,  he  began  to  croon,  to  moan,  to  sob  aloud, 
with  sharp,  hysterical  cries. 

Andro  entered;  his  foot  struck  against  the  prince. 
He  lit  the  gas,  tried  to  lift  his  master.  But  Otho- 
mar  lay  heavy  as  lead;  fierce  and  prolonged,  his 
nervous  cries  came  jolting  from  his  throat.  Andro 
rang,  once,  twice,  three  times;  he  went  on  ringing 
for  a  long  time;  at  last  a  footman  and  a  chamber- 
lain appeared  together,  at  different  doors. 

"  Call  Professor  Barzia !  "  cried  Andro  to  the 
footman.  "  Excellency,  will  you  help  me  lift  his 
highness?"  he  begged  the  chamberlain. 

But,  when  the  footman  turned  round,  he  ran 
against  the  professor,  who  could  do  nothing  for  the 
little  prince  and  had  followed  the  crown-prince. 
He  saw  Othomar  lying  on  the  floor,  moaning, 
screaming.  .  .  . 

"  Leave  me  alone  with  his  highness,"  he  ordered, 
with  a  glance  around  him. 

The  chamberlain,  Andro,  the  footman  obeyed  his 
order. 

The  professor  was  a  tall  old  man,  heavily-built 
and  strong;  he  approached  the  prince  and  lifted 
him  in  his  arms,  notwithstanding  the  leaden  heavi- 
ness of  hysteria.  Thus  he  held  him,  merely  with 
his  arms  around  him,  upon  the  couch  and  looked 
deep  into  his  eyes,  with  hypnotic  glances.  Suddenly 
Othomar  ceased  his  cries;  his  voice  was  hushed. 
His  head  fell  feebly  upon  Barzia's  shoulder.  The 
professor  continued  to  hold  him  in  his  arms.  The 
prince  became  calm,  like  a  quieted  child,  without 
Barzia's  having  uttered  a  word. 


MAJESTY  263 

"  May  I  request  your  highness  to  go  to  bed?  " 
said  the  professor,  with  a  gentle  voice  of  command. 

He  assisted  Othomar  to  get  up  and  himself  lit 
the  light  in  the  bedroom  and  helped  the  prince  off 
with  his  coat. 

"What  has  made  your  highness'  ear  bleed?" 
asked  Barzia,  whose  fingers  were  soiled  with  clotted 
blood. 

"  A  revolver-shot,"  Othomar  began,  faintly;  his 
closed  and  averted  eyes  told  the  rest. 

The  professor  said  nothing  more.  As  though 
Othomar  were  a  child,  he  went  on  helping  him, 
washed  his  ear,  his  neck,  his  hands,  with  a  mother's 
gentleness.  Then  he  made  him  lie  down  in  bed, 
covered  him  over,  tidying  the  room  like  a  servant. 
Then  he  went  and  sat  by  the  bed,  where  Othomar 
lay  staring  with  strange,  wide-open  eyes:  he  took 
the  prince's  hand  and  sat  thus  for  a  long  time,  look- 
ing softly  down  upon  him.  The  light  behind, 
turned  down  low,  threw  Barzia's  large  head  into 
the  shadow  and  just  glanced  upon  his  bald  cranium, 
from  which  a  few  grey  locks  hung  down  his  neck. 
At  last  he  said,  gently: 

'  Your  highness  wishes  to  get  well,  do  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Othomar,  in  spite  of  himself. 

"How  does  your  highness  propose  to  do  so?" 
asked  the  professor. 

The  prince  did  not  answer. 

"  Doesn't  your  highness  know?  Then  you  must 
think  it  over.  But  you  must  keep  very  calm,  will 
you  not,  very  calm.  .  .  ." 

And  he  stroked  Othomar's  hand  with  a  gentle, 
regular  motion,  as  though  anointing  it  with  balsam. 


264  MAJESTY 

"  For  your  highness  must  never  again  give  way 
to  nervous  attacks.  Your  highness  must  study  how 
to  prevent  them.  I  am  giving  your  highness  much 
to  think  about,"  continued  Barzia,  with  a  smile. 
"  I  am  doing  this  because  I  want  to  let  your  high- 
ness think  of  other  things  than  of  what  you  are 
thinking.  I  want  to  clear  your  brain  for  you.  Are 
you  tired  and  do  you  want  to  go  to  sleep,  or  shall 
I  go  on  talking?  " 

'  Yes,  go  on,"  whispered  the  prince. 

'  There  are  days  of  great  grief  in  store  for  the 
Imperial,"  the  doctor  resumed,  gently.  "  Your 
highness  must  think  of  those  days  without  permit- 
ting yourself  to  be  overcome  by  the  grief  of  them. 
.  .  .  The  little  prince  will  probably  not  recover, 
highness.  Will  you  think  of  that  .  .  .  and  think 
of  your  parents,  their  poor  majesties?  There  are 
days  like  these  for  a  nation,  or  for  a  single  family, 
in  which  grief  seems  to  pile  itself  up.  For  does 
not  this  day,  this  night  seem  to  mark  the  end  of 
your  race,  my  prince?  .  .  .  Lie  still,  lie  still,  don't 
move :  let  me  talk  on,  like  a  garrulous  old  man.  .  .  . 
Does  your  highness  know  that  the  emperor  to-day, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  whole  life,  cried,  sobbed? 
His  younger  son  is  dying.  Between  this  boy  and 
the  father  is  a  first-born  son,  who  is  very,  very  ill. 
.  .  .  Is  not  all  this  the  end?  " 

1  Yet,  if  God  wills  it  so,"  whispered  Othomar. 

"It  is  our  duty  to  be  resigned,"  said  Barzia. 
"But  does  God  will  it  so?" 

'Who  can  tell?  .  .  ." 

"  Ask  yourself,  but  not  now,  highness :  to-morrow, 


MAJESTY  265 

to-morrow.  .  .  .  After  the  saddest  nights  .  .  .  the 
mornings  come  again.  .  .  ." 

The  professor  rose  and  mixed  a  powder  in  a 
glass  of  water: 

"  Drink  this,  highness.  .   .  ." 

Othomar  drank. 

"  And  now  lie  quiet  and  close  those  wide  eyes." 

"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  sleep  though.  .  .  ." 
'  That  is  not  necessary,  only  close  those  eyes.  .  .  ." 

Barzia  stroked  them  with  his  hand;  the  prince 
kept  them  closed.  His  hand  again  lay  in  the  hand 
of  the  professor. 

A  hush  descended  upon  the  room.  Outside,  in 
the  corridors  and  galleries,  perplexed  steps  ap- 
proached at  times,  from  the  distance,  in  futile  haste; 
then  they  sounded  away,  far  away,  in  despair.  A 
world  of  sorrow  seemed  to  fill  the  palace,  there, 
outside  that  room,  until  it  held  every  hall  of  it  with 
its  dark,  tenebrous  woe.  But  in  this  one  room  no- 
thing stirred.  The  professor  sat  still  and  stared 
before  him,  absorbed  in  thought;  the  crown-prince 
had  fallen  asleep  like  a  child. 


Next  morning  the  day  rose  upon  an  empire  in 
mourning.  Prince  Berengar  had  passed  away  in 
the  night. 

Othomar  had  slept  long  and  woke  late,  as  in  a 
strange  calm.  When  Professor  Barzia  told  him 
of  the  young  prince's  end  —  the  apathy  of  the  last 


266  MAJESTY 

moments,  after  a  raging  fever  —  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  he  already  knew  it.  The  great  sorrow  which 
he  felt  was  singularly  peaceful,  without  rebellion 
in  his  heart,  and  surprised  himself.  He  remained 
lying  calmly  when  the  professor  forbade  him  to  get 
up.  He  pictured  to  himself  without  emotion  the 
little  prince,  motionless,  with  his  eyes  closed,  on  his 
camp-bed.  Mechanically  he  folded  his  hands  and 
prayed  for  his  brother's  little  soul. 

He  was  not  allowed  to  leave  his  room  that  day 
and  saw  only  the  empress,  who  came  to  him  for 
an  instant.  He  was  not  at  all  surprised  that  she 
too  was  calm,  dry-eyed :  she  had  not  yet  shed  tears. 
Even  when  he  raised  himself  from  his  pillows  and 
embraced  her,  she  did  not  cry.  Nor  did  he  cry, 
but  only  his  own  calmness  astonished  him :  not  hers. 
She  stayed  for  but  a  moment;  then  she  went  away, 
as  though  with  mechanical  steps,  and  he  was  left 
alqne.  He  saw  nobody  else  that  day  except  Barzia : 
not  even  Andro  entered  his  room. 

Outside  the  chamber,  the  prince,  judging  from 
certain  steps  in  the  corridors,  certain  sounds  of  voices 
—  the  little  that  penetrated  to  him  —  could  divine 
the  sorrow  of  the  palace;  he  pictured  sad  tidings 
spreading  through  the  land,  through  Europe  and 
causing  people  to  stand  in  consternation  in  the  pres- 
ence of  death,  which  had  taken  them  by  surprise. 
Life  was  not  secure :  who  could  tell  that  he  would  be 
alive  to-morrow !  Vain  were  the  plans  of  men :  who 
could  tell  what  the  hour  would  bring  forth!  And 
he  lay  thinking  of  this  calmly,  in  the  singular  peace- 
fulness  of  his  soul,  in  which  he  saw  the  futility  of 
struggling  against  life  or  against  death. 


MAJESTY  267 

Not  till  next  day  did  Barzia  give  him  leave  to  get 
up,  late  in  the  afternoon.  After  his  shower-bath,  he 
dressed  calmly,  in  his  lancer's  uniform,  with  crape 
round  the  sleeve.  When  he  saw  himself  in  the  glass, 
he  was  surprised  at  his  resemblance  to  his  mother, 
at  seeing  how  he  now  walked  with  the  same  mechan- 
ical step.  Barzia  allowed  him  to  go  to  the  empress' 
sitting-room.  He  there  found  her,  the  emperor, 
Thera  and  the  Archduke  and  Archduchess  of  Carin- 
thia,  who  had  arrived  at  Lipara  the  evening  before. 
They  sat  close  together,  now  and  then  softly  ex- 
changing a  word. 

Othomar  went  up  to  the  emperor  and  would  have 
embraced  him;  Oscar,  however,  only  pressed  his 
hand.  After  that  Othomar  embraced  his  sisters  and 
his  brother-in-law.  Then  he  sank  down  by  the  em- 
press, took  her  hand  in  his  and  sat  still.  She  looked 
attenuated  and  white  as  chalk  in  her  black  gown. 
She  did  not  weep:  only  the  two  princesses  sobbed, 
persistently,  again  and  again. 

The  family  dined  alone  in  the  small  dining-room, 
unattended  by  any  of  the  suite.  A  depression  had 
descended  upon  the  palace,  which  seemed  wholly 
silent  at  this  hour,  with  but  now  and  then  the  soft 
footsteps  through  the  galleries  of  an  aide-de-camp 
carrying  a  funeral-wreath,  or  a  flunkey  bringing  a 
tray  full  of  telegrams.  After  the  short  dinner,  the 
family  retired  once  more  to  the  empress'  drawing- 
room.  The  hours  dragged  on.  Night  had  fallen. 
Then  the  Archbishop  of  Lipara  was  announced. 

The  imperial  family  rose;  they  went  through  the 
galleries,  unattended,  to  the  great  knights'  hall. 
Halberdiers  stood  at  the  door,  in  mourning.  They 


268  MAJESTY 

entered.  The  emperor  gave  his  hand  to  the  em- 
press and  led  her  to  the  throne,  whose  crown  and 
draperies  were  covered  with  crape.  On  either  side 
were  seats  for  Othomar,  the  princesses,  the  arch- 
duke. 

In  the  middle  of  the  hall,  in  front  of  the  throne, 
rose  the  catafalque,  under  a  canopy  of  black  and 
ermine.  On  it  lay  the  little  prince  in  uniform. 
Over  his  feet  hung  a  small  blue  knight's  mantle  with 
a  great  white  cross;  a  boy's  sword  lay  on  his  breast; 
and  his  little  hands  were  folded  over  the  jewelled 
hilt.  By  his  little  head,  somewhat  higher  up,  shone, 
on  a  cushion,  a  small  marquis'  coronet.  Six  gilt 
candelabra  with  many  tall  candles  shone  peacefully 
down  upon  the  lad's  corpse  and  left  the  great  hall 
still  deeper  in  shadow:  only,  outside,  the  moon  rose 
in  the  distant  blue,  nocturnal  sky;  here  and  there  it 
tinged  with  a  white  glamour  the  trophies  and  suits 
of  armour  that  hung  or  stood  like  iron  spectres  in 
niches  and  against  the  walls.  At  the  foot  of  the 
catafalque,  on  a  table  like  an  altar,  with  a  white 
velvet  cloth,  a  great  gilt  crucifix  spread  out  its  two 
arms,  between  two  candelabra,  in  commiseration. 

With  drawn  swords,  motionless  as  the  armour 
on  the  walls,  stood  four  blue-mantled  knights  of  St. 
Ladislas,  two  at  either  side  of  the  catafalque. 

A  soft  scent  of  flowers  was  wafted  through  the 
hall.  All  round  the  catafalque  wreaths  of  every 
kind  of  white  blossom  were  stacked  in  great  heaps; 
the  fragrance  of  violets  outscented  all  the  others. 

They  sat  down:  the  emperor,  the  empress  and 
their  four  children.  Slowly  the  archbishop  entered 
with  his  priests  and  choir-boys.  Then  the  imperial 


MAJESTY  269 

party  knelt  on  cushions  placed  before  their  seats. 
The  prelate  read  the  prayers  for  the  dead;  and  the 
chanted  Kyrie  Elelson  and  Agnus  Dei  besought 
mercy  for  Berengar's  little  soul  amongst  the  souls 
in  purgatory,  quivered  softly  through  the  vast  hall, 
were  wafted  with  the  scent  of  the  flowers  over  the 
motionless,  sleeping  face  of  the  imperial  child.  .  .  . 

The  rite  came  to  an  end;  the  prelate  sprinkled 
the  holy  water,  went  sprinkling  around  the  cata- 
falque. The  princes  left  the  hall,  but  Othomar 
stayed  on: 

"  I  want  to  lay  my  wreath,"  he  whispered  to  the 
empress. 

The  priests  also  departed,  slowly;  the  crown- 
prince  expressed  to  the  four  knights,  who  were  wait- 
ing to  be  relieved  by  others,  his  wish  to  be  left 
alone  for  a  moment.  They  too  withdrew.  Then 
he  saw  Thesbia  appear  at  the  door,  with  a  large 
white  wreath  in  his  hand.  He  went  to  the  aide-de- 
camp and  took  the  wreath  from  him. 

Othomar  remained  alone.  The  hall  stretched 
long  and  broad,  with  darkness  at  either  end.  The 
moon  had  risen  higher,  seemed  whiter,  cast  a  ghostly 
glamour  over  the  suits  of  armour.  In  the  centre, 
as  though  in  sanctity,  between  the  pious  light  of  the 
tall  candles,  rose  the  catafalque,  lay  the  prince. 

The  crown-prince  mounted  two  steps  of  the  cata- 
falque and  placed  his  wreath.  Then  he  looked 
at  Berengar's  face:  no  fever  distorted  it  now;  it  lay 
peaceful-pale,  as  though  sleeping.  All  sounds  had 
died  away  in  the  hall;  a  deadly  silence  reigned. 
Here  the  world  of  sorrow  which  had  filled  the 
palace  and  the  country  seemed  to  have  become  sane- 


270  MAJESTY 

tified  in  an  ecstasy  of  calm.  And  Othomar  saw  him- 
self alone  with  his  soul.  The  uncertainty  of  life, 
the  vanity  of  human  intentions  were  again  revealed 
to  him,  but  more  clearly;  they  were  no  longer  black 
mystery,  they  became  harmony.  It  was  as  though 
he  saw  the  whole  harmony  of  the  past:  in  all  Lipa- 
ria's  historic  past,  in  the  whole  past  of  the  world 
there  sounded  not  one  false  note.  All  sorrow  was 
sacred  and  harmonious,  tending  more  closely  to  the 
lofty  end,  which  would  be  in  its  turn  a  beginning 
and  never  anything  but  harmony.  Resignation 
descended  upon  his  mood  like  a  spirit  of  holiness; 
his  strange  calmness  became  resignation.  It  was  as 
though  his  nerves  were  relaxed  in  one  great  as- 
suagement. 

And  his  resignation  contained  only  the  sadness 
that  never  again  would  he  hear  the  high-pitched 
little  commanding  voice  of  the  boy  whom  he  had 
loved,  that  this  little  life  had  run  its  course,  so 
soon  and  for  ever.  His  resignation  contained 
only  the  surprise  that  all  this  was  ordered  thus 
and  not  as  he  had  imagined  it.  Ke  himself  would 
have  to  wear  the  crown  which  he  had  wished  to  re- 
linquish to  Berengar.  And  it  now  seemed  to  him  as 
though  he  himself  were  receiving  it  back  from  the 
dead  boy's  hands.  This  no  doubt  was  why  he  felt 
no  touch  of  rebellion  in  his  soul,  why  he  felt  this 
peace,  this  sense  of  harmony.  His  gift  was  re- 
turning to  him  as  a  legacy. 

Long  he  stood  thus,  thinking,  staring  at  his  mo- 
tionless little  brother;  and  his  thoughts  became  sim- 
plified within  him:  he  saw  lying  straight  before  him 
the  road  which  he  should  follow.  . 


MAJESTY  271 

Then  he  heard  his  name : 

"Othomar.  .  .  ." 

He  looked  up  and  saw  the  empress  at  the  door. 
She  approached: 

"  Barzia  was  asking  where  you  were,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  He  was  uneasy  about  you.  .  .  ." 

He  smiled  to  her  and  shook  his  head  to  say  no, 
that  he  was  calm. 

She  came  close,  climbed  the  steps  of  the  catafalque 
and  leant  against  his  arm: 

"  How  peaceful  his  little  face  is !  "  she  murmured. 
"  Oh,  Othomar,  I  have  not  yet  given  him  my  last 
kiss !  And  to-morrow  he  will  no  longer  belong  to 
me:  all  those  people  will  then  be  filing  past." 

"  But  now,  mamma,  he  still  belongs  to  us  ...  to 
you.  .  .  ." 

"  Othomar  .  .  ." 

"  Mamma  .  .  ." 

"  Shall  I  not  have  ...  to  lose  you  also  ?  " 

"  No,  mamma,  not  me.  ...  I  shall  go  on  living 
.  .  .  for  you.  .  .  ." 

He  embraced  her;  she  looked  up  at  him,  surprised 
at  his  voice.  Then  she  looked  again  at  her  dead 
child.  She  released  herself  from  her  son's  arms, 
raised  herself  still  higher,  bent  over  the  little  white 
face  and  kissed  the  forehead.  But,  when  the 
stony  coldness  of  the  dead  flesh  met  her  lips,  she 
drew  back  and  stared  stupidly  at  the  corpse,  as 
though  she  understood  for  the  first  time.  Her  arms 
grew  stiff  with  cramp;  she  wrung  her  fingers;  she 
fell  straight  back  upon  Othomar. 

And  her  eyes  became  moist  with  the  first  tears 
that  she  had  shed  for  Berengar's  death  and  she  hid 


272  MAJESTY 

her  head  in  Othomar's  arms  and  sobbed  and 
sobbed.  .  .  . 

Then  he  led  her  carefully,  slowly,  down  the  steps 
of  the  catafalque,  led  her  out, of  the  hall.  In  the 
corridor  they  came  across  Barzia;  the  prince's  calm 
and  quiet  face,  as  he  supported  his  mother,  eased 
the  professor's  mind.  .  .  . 

So  soon  as  the  empress  and  crown-prince  had  left 
the  knights'  hall,  four  knights  of  St.  Ladislas  en- 
tered in  their  blue  robes.  They  took  up  their 
positions  on  either  side  of  the  catafalque  and  stood 
motionless  in  the  candle-light,  staring  before  them, 
watching  in  the  night  of  mourning  over  the  little 
imperial  corpse,  on  which  the  blue  light  of  the  moon 
now  descended.  .  .  .  The  priests  too  entered  and 
prayed.  .  .  . 

The  palace  was  silent.  When  Othomar  had  con- 
signed his  mother,  at  the  door  of  her  apartments, 
to  the  care  of  Helene  of  Thesbia,  he  went  through 
the  galleries  to  his  own  rooms.  But,  on  turning  a 
corridor,  he  started.  The  great  state-staircase 
yawned,  faintly  lighted,  at  his  feet,  with  beneath  it 
the  hollow  space  of  the  colossal  entrance-hall.  Up- 
holsterers were  occupied  in  draping  the  banisters  of 
the  staircase  with  crape  gauze,  for  the  time  when 
the  coffin  should  be  carried  downstairs.  With  wide 
arms  they  measured  out  the  mists  of  black,  threw 
black  cloud  upon  cloud;  the  clouds  of  crape  heaped 
themselves  up  with  a  dreary  flimsiness,  up  and  up 
and  up,  seeming  to  fill  the  whole  staircase  and  to 
rise  stair  upon  stair  as  though  about  to  conquer  the 
whole  palace  with  their  gloom.  .  .  . 

The  upholsterers  did  not  see  the  crown-prince  and 


MAJESTY  273 

worked  on,  silently,  in  the  faint  light.     But  a  cold 
thrill  passed  through  Othomar.     In  deathly  pallor 
he-stared  at  the  men  there,  at  his  feet,  measuring  out 
the  crape  and  sending  clouds  of  it  up  to  him.     He 
recalled  his  dream:  the  streets  of  Lipara  overflowing 
with  crape  till  the  very  sun  reeled.  .  .  .  His  blood 
seemed  to  freeze  in  his  veins.  .  .  . 
Then  he  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross: 
"  O  God,  give  me  strength!  "  he  prayed  in  con- 
sternation. 


8 

Next  day,  through  the  guard  of  honour  of  the 
grenadiers,  the  people  filed  past  the  little  prince's 
body.  The  following  morning,  it  was  removed  to 
Altara  and  interred  in  the  imperial  vault  in  St. 
Ladislas'  Cathedral.  Princes  Gunther  and  Herman 
of  Gothland  had  come  over  for  the  ceremony,  but 
the  Duke  of  Xara  was  forbidden  by  Professor 
Barzia  to  take  part  in  it:  he  remained  at  Lipara. 

The  Gothlandic  princes  and  their  suite  returned 
with  the  Emperor  Oscar  to  the  capital,  where,  at 
her  sister's  pressing  request,  Queen  Olga  had  also 
come,  with  Princess  Wanda.  And,  in  the  mourning 
stillness  of  the  Imperial,  the  family  drew  together 
in  a  narrow  circle  of  intimacy.  After  her  first  tears, 
the  Empress  Elizabeth  had  lost  her  unnatural  calm 
and  constantly  gave  way  to  violent  fits  of  sorrow, 
which  Queen  Olga  or  Othomar  had  difficulty  in 
allaying.  The  emperor  was  inconsolable,  indulging 
his  grief  with  childish  vehemence.  Nobody  had 


274  MAJESTY 

ever  seen  him  like  that  before,  nobody  recognized 
him.  The  fact  that  he  had  lost  his  favourite  child 
aroused  his  soul  to  rebellion  against  God.  In  addi- 
tion to  this,  he  had  very  much  taken  to  heart  his 
last  conversation  with  Othomar,  in  which  the  prince 
had  spoken  to  him  of  abdicating.  The  emperor 
had  not  returned  to  the  subject,  but  it  was  never 
out  of  his  thoughts.  He  feared  that  he  would  have 
to  discuss  it  with  Othomar  again.  He  was  furious 
when  he  felt  how  powerless  he  was  to  prevent  the 
crown-prince  from  taking  this  desperate  resolution. 
And  he  pictured  the  legal  results  if  the  prince  main- 
tained his  purpose :  the  Archduchess  of  Carinthia 
empress,  the  archduke  prince-consort  and  the  house 
of  Czyrkiski  no  longer  reigning  in  the  male  line  on 
the  throne  of  Liparia.  The  possibility  of  this  con- 
tingency, taken  in  conjunction  with  his  sorrow  at 
Berengar's  death,  made  the  Emperor  Oscar  suffer 
with  that  very  special  suffering  of  a  monarch  in 
whose  veins  still  flows  all  the  hereditary  attachment 
to  the  greatness  of  his  ancestors  and  who  hopes  to 
see  this  endure  for  all  time.  And  he  was  also  in- 
consolable for  the  loss  of  the  child  whom  he  loved 
best,  more  profoundly  but  also  more  silently,  in 
greater  secrecy,  since  he  did  not  speak  of  it; 
and  this  probably  made  him  feel  more  bitterly  the 
thought  of  the  future  which  he  saw  imaged  before 
him.  He  had  not  even  mentioned  it  to  the  empress, 
because  of  a  certain  superstitious  dread. 

And  with  this  mental  sorrow  —  that  his  robust 
soul,  which  had  always  retained  a  touch  of  childish- 
ness, was  allowing  itself  to  feel  weak,  as  though  it 
were  the  soul  of  any  other  mortal  instead  of  his,  a 


MAJESTY  275 

monarch's  —  there  was  mingled  his  substantial  an- 
noyance about  the  army  bill.  There  would  be  three 
hundred  millions  needed:  one  hundred  millions  had 
already  been  voted  for  the  increase  of  the  infantry; 
the  other  two  hundred,  for  the,  artillery,  Count 
Marcella,  the  minister  for  war,  had  not  yet  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining.  The  majority  of  the  army 
committee  was  against  this  colossal  arming  of  the 
frontier-forts;  the  minister  already  expected  a  vio- 
lent opposition  in  the  house  of  deputies  and  was 
fully  prepared  for  his  fall.  None  of  the  three  — 
Oscar,  Myxila  or  Marcella  —  was  willing  to  make 
the  least  compromise.  And  Oscar  moreover  was 
prepared  to  support  his  minister  to  the  point  of  im- 
possibility. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Othomar  made  General 
Ducardi  teach  him  the  question,  thoroughly,  that  he 
studied  the  staff-charts  and  military  statistics  and 
reports  of  the  committee,  that  he  followed  the 
parliamentary  discussions  from  out  of  his  solitude. 
He  held  long  deliberations  with  the  general.  He 
had,  however,  not  for  months  attended  the  morn- 
ing conferences  in  his  father's  room.  But  one 
morning  he  dressed  himself —  as  was  now  no  longer 
his  regular  habit  —  in  uniform  and  sent  a  chamber- 
lain to  ask  Oscar  whether  the  emperor  would  permit 
him  to  be  present  at  Count  Marcella's  audience. 
The  emperor  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  surprise, 
but  combated  his  antipathy  and  sent  word  to  his 
son  that  he  might  come.  So  soon  as  the  minister 
and  the  imperial  chancellor  were  with  the  emperor, 
Othomar  joined  them.  He  had  grown  still  more 
slender  and  the  silver  frogs  of  his  lancer's  uniform 


276  MAJESTY 

barely  sufficed  to  lend  a  slight  breadth  to  his  slim- 
ness;  he  was  pale  and  a  little  sunken  in  the  cheeks; 
but  the  glance  of  his  eyes  had  lost  its  former  fever- 
ish restlessness  and  recovered  its  melancholy  calm, 
together  with  a  certain  stiffness  and  haughtiness. 
He  refrained  at  first  from  taking  part  in  the  dis- 
cussion, let  the  emperor  curse,  the  chancellor  shrug 
his  shoulders  and  rely  on  the  impossible,  the  minis- 
ter declared  that  he  would  never  give  in.  Then, 
however,  he  asked  Oscar  for  leave  to  interpose  a 
word.  He  took  a  pencil;  with  a  few  short,  decided 
lines  of  demonstration  on  the  maps,  with  a  few 
simple,  accurate  indications  on  the  registers,  with  a 
few  figures  which  he  quoted,  correctly,  by  heart,  he 
showed  that  he  was  quite  conversant  with  the  sub- 
ject. He  expressed  the  opinion  that,  in  so  far  as 
he  could  gather  from  the  reports  of  the  committee, 
from  the  mood  of  the  house  of  deputies,  it  remained 
an  undoubted  fact  that  the  two  hundred  millions 
would  be  refused  .  .  .  and  that  the  minister  would 
fall.  He  repeated  these  last  words  with  emphasis 
and  then  looked  firmly  first  at  his  father  and  then 
at  Count  Marcella.  Then,  in  his  soft  voice,  which 
rose  and  fell  in  logical  tones,  with  serene  words  of 
conviction,  he  asked  why  they  should  not  submit  to 
circumstances  and  make  the  best  of  them.  Why  not 
accept  the  one  hundred  millions  for  the  infantry 
as  so  much  gained  and  —  for  this  after  all  would  be 
possible  without  immediate  danger  —  endeavour  to 
distribute  the  other  two  hundred  over  a  period  of 
four  or  five  years.  He  felt  certain  that  an  increase 
of  twenty  millions  or  so  a  year  would  not  meet  with 
such  violent  opposition.  By  this  arrangement 


MAJESTY  277 

Count  Marcella  would  be  able  to  maintain  himself 
in  office  and  to  be  supported  by  the  emperor.  .  .  . 

When  he  had  ceased,  his  words  were  succeeded 
by  a  pause.  His  advice,  if  not  distinguished  by 
genius,  was  at  least  practical  and  made  the  most  of 
this  critical  situation.  Count  Myxila  slowly  nodded 
his  head  in  approval.  The  emperor  and  Count 
Marcella  could  not  at  once  adhere  to  Othomar's 
idea  and  were  obstinate,  as  though  they  still  hoped 
to  force  the  army  bill  through,  unchanged  as  con- 
ceived at  first.  But  the  chancellor  took  the  same 
view  as  the  crown-prince,  proved  still  more  clearly 
that  an  arrangement  of  this  sort  would  be  the  only 
one  by  which  his  majesty  would  be  able  to  retain 
Count  Marcella's  services.  And  the  end  of  the 
matter  was  that  the  Duke  of  Xara's  proposal  should 
be  taken  into  consideration. 

When  Myxila  and  Marcella  had  gone,  the  em- 
peror asked  the  prince  to  wait  a  moment  longer: 

"  Othomar,"  he  said,  "  it  gives  me  great  pleasure 
to  see  you  once  more  occupying  yourself  with  the  af- 
fairs of  our  country.  .  .  ." 

He  hesitated  an  instant,  almost  anxiously: 

"  What  conclusion  may  I  draw  from  this  .  .  . 
for  the  future?  "  he  continued  at  last,  slowly. 

The  crown-prince  understood  him: 

"  Papa,"  he  said,  gently,  "  I  have  had  my  mo- 
ments of  discouragement.  I  shall  perhaps  have 
them  again.  But  forget  .  .  .  what  we  were  dis- 
cussing just  before  Berengar's  death.  I  have  given 
up  all  thought  of  abdicating.  .  .  ." 

The  emperor  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  I  am  religious,  papa,  and  I  have  faith,"  con- 


278  MAJESTY 

tinued  the  prince.  "  Perhaps  an  almost  supersti- 
tious faith.  I  plainly  see,  in  what  has  happened, 
the  hand  of  God.  .  .  ." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  with  a 
meditative  gaze : 

"  The  hand  of  God,"  he  repeated.  "  I  had  a 
presentiment  that  one  of  us  would  die  within  this 
year.  I  thought  that  I  myself  should  be  the  one 
to  die.  That  is  perhaps  why,  papa,  I  did  not  see 
how  monstrous  it  was  of  me  to  take  the  resolution 
which  I  did.  I  was  not  thinking  of  myself,  who  was 
bound  to  die  in  any  event;  I  thought  only  of  Beren- 
gar.  But  now  he  is  dead  and  I  am  alive;  and  I  shall 
now  think  of  myself.  For  I  feel  that  I  do  not  be- 
long to  myself.  And  I  feel  that  it  is  this  that 
should  support  us  through  life :  this  feeling  that  we 
do  belong  not  to  ourselves  but  to  others.  I  have 
always  loved  our  people  and  I  have  wished  to  help 
them  vaguely,  in  the  abstract;  I  threw  out  my  hands, 
without  knowing  why,  and  when  I  did  not  make 
good,  it  drove  me  to  despair.  .  .  ." 

He  suddenly  stopped  and  looked  timidly  at  his 
father,  as  though  he  had  gone  too  far  in  delivering 
his  thoughts.  But  Oscar  sat  calmly  listening  to 
him;  and  he  continued: 

"  And  I  now  know  that  this  despair  is  not  right, 
because  with  this  despair  we  keep  ourselves  for 
ourselves  and  cannot  give  ourselves  to  others.  You 
see  — "  he  rose  and  smiled  — "  I  cannot  manage  to 
cure  myself  of  my  philosophy,  but  I  hope  now  that 
it  will  tend  to  strengthen  me  instead  of  enervating 
me,  as  it  now  flows  from  quite  a  different  prin- 
ciple." 


MAJESTY  279 

The  emperor  gave  a  little  shrug  of  the  shoulders : 

"  Every  one  must  work  out  his  own  theory  of 
life,  Othomar.  I  can  only  give  you  this  advice :  do 
not  be  carried  away  by  enthusiasm  and  keep  your 
point  of  view  high.  Do  not  analyse  yourself  out 
of  all  existence,  for  such  abnegation  does  not  last 
and  inevitably  harks  back  to  the  old  rights.  I  do 
not  reflect  so  much  as  you  do;  I  am  more  spon- 
taneous and  impulsive.  But  I  will  not  condemn  you 
for  being  different:  you  can't  help  it.  Perhaps  you 
belong  to  this  age  more  than  I  do.  I  only  wish 
to  look  at  the  result  of  your  reflections;  and  this 
result  is  that  you're  giving  yourself  back  to  or- ' 
dinary  life  and  to  the  interests  of  your  country. 
And  this  rejoices  me,  Othomar.  Nor  do  I  wish  to 
look  too  far  into  the  future;  I  dare  say  that  later 
too  you  will  not  have  my  ideas,  I  dare  say  that  later 
you  will  reign  with  a  brand-new  constitution,  with 
an  elected  upper  house.  I  expect  you  will  encounter 
much  opposition  from  the  authoritative  party  among 
the  nobles.  .  .  .  But,  as  I  say,  I  do  not  wish  to  go 
into  that  too  far  and  I  am  content  to  rejoice  at 
your  moral  convalescence.  And  I  am  very  grateful 
to  you  for  the  advice  you  gave  us  just  now.  It  was 
quite  simple,  but  we  should  never  have  thought  of 
it  by  ourselves.  We  are  too  conservative  for  that. 
I  think  now  that  what  you  propose  will  be  the  best 
thing  to  be  done  and  that  it  can't  be  done  other- 
wise. .  .  ." 

He  held  out  his  hand;  Othomar  grasped  it. 

"  And,"  he  continued  with  the  great  magnanimity 
which,  for  all  his  despotic  haughtiness,  lay  at  the 
very  root  of  his  soul,  "  do  not  bear  any  malice  be- 


280  MAJESTY 

cause  of  ...  of  the  words  I  used  to  you,  Otho- 
mar.  I  am  violent  and  passionate,  as  you  know. 
I  was  fonder  of  Berengar  than  of  you.  But  you 
yourself  loved  the  boy.  Bear  me  no  malice,  for  his 
sake.  .  .  .  You  are  my  son  too  and  I  love  you,  if 
only  because  of  the  fact  that  you  are  my  son  and 
the  last  of  my  race.  .  .  .  Forgive  my  candour." 

Then  he  pressed  Othomar  in  his  arms.  It  struck 
him  painfully  to  feel  the  frailty  of  the  prince  in  his 
firm  embrace,  so  immediately  upon  his  words:  "  the 
last  of  my  race.  ..."  A  strange,  bitter  despair 
shot  through  his  soul;  yet  he  clearly  divined  the 
mystery  of  this  frailty:  an  unknown  moral  spring, 
which  he  himself  lacked,  in  the  direct  simplicity  of 
his  nature,  but  which,  to  his  great  surprise,  he  felt 
in  his  son.  When  the  prince  was  gone  and  Oscar, 
left  alone,  thought  of  this  and  sought  that  spring  in 
what  he  knew  of  his  son,  he  did  not  find  it,  yet  felt 
that,  whatever  it  might  be,  it  was  something  to  be 
envied,  a  strength  tougher  than  muscular  strength. 
He  looked  about  him;  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  portrait 
of  the  empress  on  his  writing-table.  How  often 
had  he  not  stared  at  it  in  irritation  because  of  their 
successor,  who  was  so  wholly  her  son !  But,  as 
though  a  gleam  of  light  passed  before  his  eyes,  he 
now  looked  at  the  delicate  feaures  without  the  old 
annoyance;  and  a  grateful  warmth  began  to  glow 
within  him.  Whatever  it  were,  Othomar  had  de- 
rived this  mysterious  strength  from  his  mother.  It 
saved  him  and  spared  him  for  his  country,  for  his 
race.  And  —  who  knew?  —  perhaps  this  mystery 
was  just  the  element  which  their  race  needed,  a  neces- 
sary constituent  of  its  new  lease  of  life.  .  .  .  He 


MAJESTY  281 

did  not  seek  to  penetrate  any  farther;  the  future  — 
even  though  it  was  now  emerging  more  clearly  out 
of  its  first  dimness  —  had  no  attraction  for  him. 
He  loved  the  past,  those  iron  centuries  with  their 
heroes  of  emperors.  But  he  felt  that  everything 
was  not  lost.  In  his  pious  belief  in  the  Almighty, 
he  thought,  as  did  his  son,  of  the  hand  of  God. 
If  it  must  be  so,  it  was  right.  God's  will  was  in- 
scrutable. 

And  grateful  to  the  empress,  grateful  for  the 
light  that  shone  before  him,  he  bent  his  knees  to  the 
crucifix  on  the  wall  and  prayed  for  his  two  sons. 
He  prayed  long  for  the  son  who  was  to  bear  his 
crown,  but  longer  for  the  soul  of  the  child  of  his 
own  blood,  whose  loss  would  be  the  grief  that 
would  always  be  as  wormwood  in  the  depths  of  his 
soul,  which  was  now  outpoured  in  gratitude.  .  .  . 


From   the  Diary   of  Alexa  Duchess   of   Yemena, 
Countess  of  Vaza. 

" — November,  18 — . 

"  The  crown-prince  has  not  come  with  the  em- 
peror. Professor  Barzia  forbade  it,  because  he 
considered  that  the  big  hunting-parties  with  which 
the  emperor  wishes  to  divert  his  thoughts  from  his 
grief  for  our  little  prince  would  be  too  fatiguing 
for  my  sweet  invalid.  Still,  I  hear  from  Dutri  that 
he  is  making  distinct  progress  and  has  already  re- 
sumed his  daily  morning  rides. 


282  MAJESTY 

"  It  is  all  over  with  me.  Poor  sinful  heart  within 
me,  die !  For,  after  this  last  flower  of  passion  that 
blossomed  in  you,  I  wish  you  to  die  to  the  world. 
For  the  sake  of  the  purity  of  my  imperial  flower, 
I  wish  you  now  to  die.  Nothing  after  this,  no- 
thing but  the  new  life  which  I  see  lifting  before 
me.  .  .  . 

"And  yet  I  am  still  young;  I  look  no  older  in 
my  glass  than  I  did  a  year  ago.  I  have  no  need 
to  abdicate  my  feminine  powers  unless  I  wish  to. 
And  that  is  how  every  one  looks  at  it,  for  I  know 
that  they  whisper  of  the  Duke  of  Mena-Doni,  as 
though  he  would  be  happy  to  replace  my  adored 
crown-prince  in  my  affections.  But  it's  not  true, 
it's  not  true.  And  I'm  so  glad  of  it,  that  they  do 
not  realize  me  and  do  not  know  anything,  that  they 
do  not  understand  that  I  want  to  let  my  imperial 
love  fade  away  in  purity  aud  wish  to  cherish  no 
earthly  love  after  it. 

"  Dear  love  of  my  heart,  you  have  raised  me  to 
my  new  life!  You  were  still  a  sin,  but  yet  you 
purified  me,  because  you  yourself  were  purified  by 
the  contact  of  that  sacred  something  which  is  in 
majesty.  Oh,  you  were  the  last  sin,  but  already 
you  were  purer  than  the  one  before !  For  I  have 
been  a  great  sinner:  I  have  immolated  up  all  my 
sinful  woman's  life  to  consuming  passion;  and  it  has 
left  nothing  but  ashes  in  my  heart !  Great  scorch- 
ing love  of  my  life  for  him  who  is  now  dead  —  may 
his  soul  rest  in  peace !  —  I  will  not  deny  you,  be- 
cause you  have  been  my  most  intense  earthly  plea- 
sure, because  through  you  I  first  learnt  to  know 
that  I  possessed  a  soul  and  because  you  thus  brought 


MAJESTY  283 

me  nearer  to  what  I  now  see  before  me;  but  yet, 
what  were  you  but  earthliness?  And  my  chaster 
imperial  love,  what  were  you  too  but  earthliness? 
Gentle  sovereign  of  my  soul,  what  will  God  have 
you  be  but  earthly?  An  empire  awaits  you,  a 
crown,  a  sceptre,  an  empress.  God  wills  it  and 
therefore  it  is  good,  that  you  are  earthly,  while 
your  earthliness  is  at  the  same  time  consecrated  by 
your  pious  faith.  But  I,  I  have  been  less  than 
merely  earthly:  I  was  sinful.  And  now  I  wish  that 
my  heart  should  wholly  die  within  me,  because  it 
is  nothing  than  sin.  Then  shall  my  heart  be  born 
again,  in  new  life.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  prayed.  For  hours  I  lay  on  the  cold 
marble  in  the  chapel,  till  my  knees  pained  me  and 
my  limbs  were  stiff.  I  have  confessed  my  sinful 
life  to  my  sainted  confessor,  his  lordship  of  Vaza. 
Oh,  the  sweetness  of  absolution  and  the  ecstasy  of 
prayer!  Why  do  we  not  earlier  feel  the  blessed 
consolation  that  lies  in  the  performance  of  our  re- 
ligious duties!  Oh,  if  I  could  lose  myself  utterly 
in  that  sweet  mystery,  in  God;  if  I  could  go  into  a 
convent!  But  I  have  my  two  stepdaughters.  I 
must  bring  them  into  society;  it  is  my  duty.  And 
the  bishop  thinks  that  that  is  my  penance  and  my 
punishment:  never  to  be  able  to  withdraw  into  a 
hallowed  seclusion,  but  to  continue  breathing  the 
sinful  atmosphere  of  the  world. 

"  I  will  give  my  castle  in  Lycilia,  where  we  never 
go  —  my  own  castle  and  estate  —  to  our  Holy 
Church  for  a  convent  for  Ursulines  of  gentle  birth. 
I  went  there  with  the  bishop  the  other  day.  Oh, 
the  great  gloomy  rooms,  the  shadowy  frescoes,  the 


284  MAJESTY 

sombre  park !  And  the  chapel,  when  the  new  wind- 
ows are  added,  through  which  the  light  will  fall 
in  a  mystic  medley  of  colour!  My  dearest  wish  is 
to  be  allowed  to  grow  old  there,  and  to  die  far  away 
from  the  world:  but  shall  I  ever  be  permitted? 
Holy  Mother  of  God,  shall  I  ever  be  per- 
mitted? 

"  Am  I  sincere?  Who  knows?  What  do  I  my- 
self know?  Do  I  truly  feel  this  purification  of  my 
soul,  or  do  I  remain  the  woman  I  am?  A  dreadful 
doubt  rises  in  me;  it  is  Satan  entering  into  me! 
I  will  pray:  Blessed  Virgin,  pray  for  me! 

"  I  have  become  calmer;  prayer  has  strengthened 
me.  Oh,  full  of  anguish  are  the  doubts  which  tear 
me  from  my  conviction!  Then  Satan  says  that  I 
am  deluding  myself  into  this  conviction,  to  console 
myself  in  my  destitution,  and  that  I  have  become 
religious  for  want  of  occupation.  At  such  times  I 
see  myself  in  the  glass,  young,  a  young  woman. 
But,  when  I  pray,  the  doubts  retire  from  my  sinful 
mood  and  I  look  back  shuddering  upon  my  wicked 
past.  And  then  the  new  life  of  my  future  once 
more  shines  up  before  me.  .  .  . 

"  Beloved  prince,  sovereign  of  my  soul,  here  in 
these  pages  which  none  shall  ever  read  I  take  leave 
of  you,  because  it  was  not  vouchsafed  me  to  bid 
you  farewell  at  a  moment  of  tangible  reality.  Oh, 
I  shall  often,  perhaps  from  day  to  day,  still  see  you 
in  the  crush  of  the  world,  in  the  ceremonial  of 
palaces;  but  you  will  never  again  belong  to  me  and 
so  I  take  leave  of  you !  Whatever  I  may  be  —  a 


MAJESTY  285 

twofold  sinner  perhaps,  longing  only  for  Heaven 
because  the  earth  has  lost  its  charm  for.  me  —  I 
have  been  true  to  you,  as  I  always  have  been,  in 
love.  I  have  seen  you  bowed  down,  you  so  frail, 
beneath  your  heavy  yoke  of  empire;  and  I  have  felt 
my  heart  brimming  over  with  pity  for  you.  I  have 
tried  to  give  you  my  poor  sinful  consolation  as  best 
I  could.  May  Heaven  forgive  me !  I  met  you  at 
a  moment  when  the  tears  were  flowing  from  your 
dear  eyes  with  bitterness  because  people  hated  you 
and  had  dared  with  sacrilegious  hands  to  strike  at 
your  imperial  body;  and  I  tried  to  give  you  what  I 
could  of  sweetness,  so  as  to  make  you  forget  that 
bitterness.  Ah,  perhaps  I  was  even  then  not  quite 
sincere;  perhaps  I  am  even  not  so  now!  But  that 
would  be  too  terrible;  that  would  make  me  despise 
myself  as  I  cannot  do !  And  I  will  at  least  retain 
this  illusion,  that  I  was  sincere,  that  I  did  wish  to 
comfort  you,  that,  sinful  though  it  was,  I  did  com- 
fort you,  that  I  did,  in  very  truth,  love  you,  that  I 
still  love  you  now,  that  I  shall  no  longer  love  you  — 
because  I  must  not  —  as  your  mistress,  but  that  I 
shall  do  so  as  your  subject.  The  blood  in  my  veins 
loves  yours,  your  golden  blood!  And,  when  I  my- 
self have  found  peace  and  no  longer  doubt  and 
hesitate,  my  last  days  shall  be  spent  only  in  prayer 
for  you,  that  you  also  may  receive  peace  and  strength 
for  your  coming  task  of  government.  I  feel  no 
jealousy  of  her  who  will  be  my  future  empress.  I 
know  that  she  is  beautiful  and  that  she  is  younger 
than  I.  But  I  do  not  compare  myself  with  her. 
I  shall  be  her  subject  as  I  am  yours.  For  I  love 
you  for  yourself  and  I  love  everything  that  will  be 


286  MAJESTY 

yours.  You  are  my  emperor;  you  are  already  my 
emperor,  more  than  Oscar!  Farewell,  my  prince, 
my  crown-prince,  my  emperor!  When  I  see  you 
again,  you  will  be  nothing  more  to  me  than  my 
emperor  and  my  emperor  alone! 


"  TO  HIS  IMPERIAL  HIGHNESS  THE  DUKE  OF  XARA, 

"  LlPARA. 

"  CASTEL  VAZA, 
" — November,  18 — . 
"  MY  BELOVED  PRINCE, 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  venture  to  send  you  the  ac- 
companying pages.  I  meant  at  first  to  send  you  a 
long  letter,  a  letter  of  farewell.  And  I  did  write 
you  many,  but  did  not  send  them  to  you  and  de- 
stroyed them.  Then  I  wrote  to  you  only  for  my- 
self, took  leave  of  you  for  myself.  But  can  I  trace 
what  goes  on  within  me,  what  I  think  from  one 
moment  to  the  other?  I  did  miss  it  so:  my  sweet 
farewell,  which  would  still  bind  me  in  some  intimate 
way  to  you !  And  so  I  could  not  refrain  —  at  last, 
after  much  vacillation  of  mind  —  from  sending  you 
these  pages,  which  I  had  written  only  for  myself. 
At  your  feet  I  implore  you  graciously  to  accept  them, 
graciously  to  read  them.  Then  destroy  them. 
Through  them  you  will  learn  the  last  thoughts  that 
I  have  dared  to  consecrate  to  the  mystery  that  was 
our  love.  .  .  . 

"  I  press  my  lips  to  your  adored  hands. 

"  ALEXA." 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  Empress  Elizabeth  rode  with  Helene  of 
Thesbia  in  a  victoria,  preceded  by  an  outrider,  from 
St.  Ladislas  to  the  Old  Palace,  which,  together  with 
the  cathedral  and  the  Episcopal,  formed  one  gigan- 
tic building.  Here,  at  Altara,  the  Archduke  Al- 
brecht  and  the  Archduchess  Eudoxie,  with  the  im- 
perial bride,  had  taken  up  their  abode  on  the  pre- 
vious day.  From  the  tall  fortress  —  a  broad 
mass  of  granite  with  crenulated  plateaus  and  squat 
towers,  overlooking  Altara  —  the  road  wandered 
downwards,  indistinguishable  beneath  the  old  chest- 
nut-trees, in  tortuous  zig-zags.  The  dust  flew  up 
under  the  wheels;  on  both  sides  lay  villas,  with 
terraces  gay  with  vases  and  flowers  and  statues, 
sloping  lower  and  lower  towards  the  town.  The 
villas  blazed  with  bunting;  the  blue-and-white  flags 
with  the  white  crosses  revelled  in  all  their  gaudy 
newness  among  the  dusty  foliage  of  the  old  trees 
and  acacias. 

It  was  June,  six  months  after  the  death  of  the 
little  prince;  but  the  mourning  had  been  lightened 
because  of  the  approaching  nuptials  of  the  Duke 
of  Xara,  which  the  emperor  wished  to  see  cele- 
brated as  early  as  possible.  The  empress,  how- 
ever, still  wore  heavy  mourning,  which  she  would 

287 


288  MAJESTY 

not  lay  aside  before  the  day  of  the  wedding;  Helene 
was  in  grey;  the  liveries  were  grey. 

Many  pedestrians,  horsemen,  carriages  passed 
along  the  road  and  stopped  respectfully;  the  em- 
press bowed  to  left  and  right;  she  received  cheers 
and  salutations  from  the  balconies  of  the  villas. 
In  this  warm  summer  weather  a  mellow  welcome, 
a  soft  gaiety  reigned  all  along  the  road;  the  road, 
with  its  villas  where  the  people  sat  in  groups, 
emitted  a  friendliness  which  affected  the  empress 
pleasantly  and  made  her  heart  swell  in  her  breast 
with  a  gentle  melancholy.  Children  ran  about  and 
played  in  white  summer  suits;  they  stopped  suddenly 
and,  like  well-bred  children,  accustomed  to  seeing 
members  of  the  imperial  family  pass  daily,  they 
bowed  low,  the  boys  awkwardly,  the  girls  with  new- 
learnt  curtseys.  Then  they  went  on  playing  again. 
.  .  .  And  the  empress  smiled  at  a  large  family, 
old  and  young  people  together,  who  sat  on  a  terrace, 
doubtless  celebrating  a  birthday,  and  laughed  and 
drank,  with  many  glasses  and  decanters  before  them, 
the  children  with  their  mouths  full  of  cake.  So 
soon  as  they  saw  the  outrider,  they  all  stood  up  and 
waved,  some  with  their  glasses  still  in  their  hands, 
and  the  empress,  laying  aside  her  usual  stiffness, 
bowed  back  with  a  winning  smile. 

And  it  was  as  though  she  were  driving  through 
a  huge,  luxurious  village;  for  a  moment  she  forgot 
the  light  obsession  that  depressed  her,  forgot  why 
she  was  this  day  going  to  Valerie  and  allowed  her- 
self to  be  lulled  by  her  delight  in  the  love  that  she 
divined  all  round  her.  It  was  the  love  of  the  old 
Liparian  patrician  families  —  noble  or  not  noble  — 


MAJESTY  289 

for  their  sovereigns.  It  was  a  caress  which  she 
never  felt  at  Lipara.  And  she  remembered  Otho- 
mar's  letter,  at  the  time  of  last  year's  inundations: 

'  Why  are  we  not  oftener  at  Altara?  " 

She  could  not  for  a  moment  desist  from  bowing. 
But  she  was  now  approaching  the  town:  the  old 
houses  shifted  like  the  wings  at  a  theatre;  the  whole 
town  shifted  nearer,  gay  with  flags,  which  threw 
an  air  of  youth  over  its  old  stonework.  The  streets 
were  full :  thousands  of  visitors,  native  and  foreign, 
were  at  Altara;  there  was  not  a  room  to  be  had 
in  the  hotels.  And  the  empress  could  scarcely  speak 
a  word  to  Helene;  she  could  do  nothing  but  bow 
and  bow,  perpetually.  .  .  . 

In  the  fore-court  of  the  Old  Palace,  the  infantry 
composing  the  guard  of  honour  of  the  Austrian 
bride  were  drawn  up  and  presented  arms  as  the 
empress  drove  in.  The  Archduchess  Eudoxie  was 
awaiting  the  empress. 

"  How  is  Valerie?  "  Elizabeth  at  once  asked. 

"  Better,  calmer,"  replied  the  archduchess. 
"  Much  better  than  I  dared  hope.  But  she  will 
receive  no  one.  .  .  ." 

"  Do  send  to  ask  whether  I  can  see  her.  .  .  ." 

The  archduchess'  lady-in-waiting  left  the  room: 
she  returned  with  the  message  that  her  imperial 
highness  was  expecting  the  empress. 

Elizabeth  found  Valerie  lying  on  a  sofa,  wearing 
a  white  lace  tea-gown,  looking  very  pale,  with  great, 
dark,  dull  eyes;  she  rose,  however: 

"  Forgive  me,  ma'am,"  she  said,  in  apology. 

Elizabeth  embraced  her  with  great  tenderness; 
the  archduchess  added: 


290  MAJESTY 

"  I  was  not  well,  I  felt  so  tired.  .  .  ." 
But  then  her  eyes  met  Elizabeth's  and  she  saw 
that  the  empress  did  not  expect  her  to  exhibit  super- 
human endurance.  She  nestled  up  against  her 
and  cried  softly,  as  one  cries  who  has  already 
wept  long  and  passionately  and  is  now  exhausted 
with  weeping  and  has  not  the  strength  to  weep  ex- 
cept very,  very  softly.  The  empress  made  her  sit 
down,  sat  down  beside  her  and  caressed  her  with  a 
soothing  movement  of  her  hand.  Neither  of  the 
two  spoke;  neither  of  the  two  found  words  in  the 
difficult  relation  which  at  that  moment  they  bore 
one  to  the  other. 

Two  days  ago,  the  day  before  that  fixed  for  the 
bride's  journey  to  Altara,  the  news  had  arrived  that 
Prince  von  Lohe-Obkowitz  had  shot  himself  in 
Paris.  The  actual  reason  of  this  suicide  was  not 
known.  Some  thought  that  the  prince  had  taken 
much  to  heart  the  disfavour  of  the  Emperor  of 
Austria  and  the  quarrel  with  his  own  family;  others 
that  he  had  lost  a  fortune  at  baccarat  and  that  his 
ruin  was  completed  by  the  bohemian  extravagance 
of  his  wife,  the  notorious  Estelle  Desvaux,  who  her- 
self had  been  ruined  more  than  once  in  her  life, 
but  had  always  retrieved  her  position  by  means  of 
a  theatrical  tour  and  the  sale  of  a  few  diamonds. 
Others  again  maintained  that  Prince  Lohe  had 
never  been  able  to  forget  his  love  for  the  future 
Duchess  of  Xara.  But,  whatever  might  be  sug- 
gested in  Viennese  court-circles,  nothing  was  known 
for  certain.  Valerie  had  by  accident  read  the  re- 
port, which  they  had  tried  to  conceal  from  her,  in 
the  same  newspaper  in  which,  now  almost  a  year 


MAJESTY  291 

ago,  she  had,  also  by  accident,  on  the  terrace  at 
Altseeborgen,  read  the  news  of  Prince  Lobe's  pro- 
posed marriage  and  surrender  of  his  rights.  Her 
soul,  which  had  no  tendency  to  mysticism,  neverthe- 
less, in  the  shock  of  despair  that  now  passed 
through  it,  became  almost  superstitious  because  of 
this  repetition  of  cruelty.  But  when,  months  ago, 
she  had  combated  and  worn  out  her  sorrow,  it  had 
been  followed  by  an  indifference  to  any  further  suf- 
fering that  she  might  yet  have  to  experience  in  life. 
The  death  of  her  illusions  was  a  final  death;  after 
her  betrothal  she  had  as  it  were  found  herself  with 
a  new  soul,  hardened  and  girt  about  with  indiffer- 
ence. It  was  strange  that  in  this  indifference  the 
only  thing  to  which  she  continued  sensible  was  that 
exquisiteness  in  Othomar's  character :  his  delicacy  in 
sparing  her  at  Altseeborgen,  against  Oscar's  desire; 
his  wide  feeling  of  universal  love  for  his  people; 
all  his  gentle  nature  and  simple  sense  of  duty.  .  .  . 
But,  however  indifferent  she  might  generally  think 
herself  to  be,  this  second  incident  struck  her  cruelly, 
as  though  a  refinement  of  fate  had  chosen  the  mo- 
ment for  it.  The  official  journey  from  Sigismun- 
dingen  to  Altara  had  been  a  martyrdom.  Valerie 
had  endured  like  an  automaton  the  receptions  on 
the  frontiers,  the  welcome  at  the  Central  Station 
at  Altara,  with  the  greeting  of  her  imperial  bride- 
groom, who  had  there  kissed  her,  and  the  addresses 
of  the  authorities,  the  offering  of  bread  and  salt  by 
the  canons  of  the  chapter  of  St.  Ladislas.  She  had 
swallowed  it,  their  bread  and  salt.  And  then  the 
drive  through  the  town,  gay  with  bunting  and  with 
triumphal  arches  erected  from  street  to  street,  to 


292  MAJESTY 

the  Old  Palace,  in  the  open  landau  with  the  em- 
peror and  her  bridegroom,  amid  the  cheering  of  the 
populace  which  cut  her  ears  and  her  overexcited 
nerves  as  though  with  sharp-edged  knives !  Then, 
at  the  palace,  it  had  struck  Othomar  how  like  a 
hunted  fawn  she  looked,  with  her  frightened  eyes. 
Prince  Lohe's  death  was  known  at  Altara;  and, 
though  the  people  had  cheered,  cheered  from  true 
affection  for  the  future  crown-princess,  they  had 
stared  at  her  because  of  that  tragedy,  curious  and 
eager  to  see  an  august  anguish  shuddering  in  the 
midst  of  their  festivities,  hunted  through  arches  of 
green  and  bunting.  They  had  seen  nothing.  Va- 
lerie had  bowed,  smiled,  waved  her  hand  to  them 
from  the  balcony  of  the  Old  Palace,  standing  by 
Othomar's  side !  They  had  seen  nothing,  nothing, 
for  all  their  tense  expectation.  But  then  Valerie's 
strength  had  come  to  an  end.  Her  part  was 
played:  let  the  curtain  fall.  Othomar  left  her 
alone,  with  a  pressure  of  the  hand.  For  hours  she 
sat  lifelessly;  then  night  came;  she  could  not  sleep, 
but  she  was  able  to  sob. 

Now  it  was  next  day;  she  was  lying  down  ex- 
hausted, but  really  she  had  shed  her  last  tear,  fought 
her  last  fight,  recovered  her  indifference:  no  sor- 
rows that  were  still  in  store  for  her  could  ever  hurt 
her  now ! 

Yet  the  fond  embrace  of  Othomar's  mother 
softened  her;  and  she  again  found  her  tears. 

They  exchanged  barely  a  few  words  and  yet  they 
felt  a  mutual  sympathy  passing  between  them. 
And  through  the  midst  of  her  sorrow  Valerie  could 
see  her  duty,  which  would  at  the  same  time  be  her 


MAJESTY  293 

strength:  no  bitter  indifference,  but  an  acquiescence 
in  what  her  life  might  be.  Oh,  she  had  imagined  it 
differently  in  her  dreams  as  a  young  girl:  she  had 
pictured  it  to  herself  as  more  agreeable  and  smiling 
and  as  finding  its  expression  more  naturally,  more 
spontaneously  and  without  so  much  calculation! 
But  she  had  awakened  from  her  dreams;  and  where 
else  should  she  seek  her  strength  but  in  her  duty? 
.  .  .  And  she  conquered  herself,  whatever  might  be 
destroyed  in  her  soul,  by  an  unsuspected  vitality  — 
her  real  nature  —  even  more  than  by  her  thoughts. 
She  dried  her  eyes,  mentioned  that  it  was  near  the 
time  when  a  deputation  of  young  Liparian  ladies 
was  to  come  and  offer  her  a  wedding-present;  and 
the  empress  left  her  alone,  that  she  might  dress. 

She  appeared  presently,  in  a  white  costume  em- 
broidered with  dull  gold,  in  the  drawing-room 
where  her  parents  sat  with  the  empress  and  with 
Helene  of  Thesbia  and  the  Austrian  ladies-in-wait- 
ing. Shortly  after,  Othomar  came  too,  with  his 
sisters  and  the  Archduke  of  Carinthia.  And,  when 
the  deputation  of  young  ladies  of  rank  was  an- 
nounced and  appeared,  with  Eleonore  of  Yemena 
in  its  midst,  Valerie  listened  with  her  usual  smile 
to  the  address  recited  by  the  little  marchioness,  with 
a  gracious  gesture  accepted  from  the  hands  of  two 
other  girls  the  great  case  which  they  caused  to  fly 
open,  showing,  upon  light  velvet,  a  triple  necklace 
of  great  pearls.  And  she  was  able  to  find  a  few 
pretty  phrases  of  thanks:  she  uttered  them  in  a 
clear  voice;  and  no  one  who  heard  her  would  have 
suspected  that  she  had  passed  a  sleepless  night, 
bathed  in  tears,  with  before  her  eyes  the  life- 


294  MAJESTY 

less  body  of  a  young  man  with  shattered  temples. 
The  young  ladies  of  the  deputation  were  per- 
mitted to  see  the  wedding-presents,  which  were  dis- 
played in  a  large  room;  Princess  Thera  and  the 
ladies-in-waiting  accompanied  them.  There,  in  that 
room,  it  was  like  a  sudden  gleam  of  brilliancy, 
flashing  in  the  daylight  from  the  long  tables  on 
which  the  presents  stood  surrounded  by  flowers:  the 
heavily-gilt  candelabra,  gilt  and  crystal  table-  and 
tea-services,  gilt  and  silver  caskets  from  various 
towns,  an  Altara  Cathedral  in  silver,  silver  ships 
with  delicate,  swelling  sails  from  naval  institutions 
and  jewelled  gifts  from  all  the  royal  friends  and 
relations  in  Europe.  On  a  satin  cushion  lay,  like  a 
fairy  trinket,  a  sparkling  duchess'  diadem  of  big 
sapphires  and  brilliants,  one  of  the  presents  of  the 
bride's  future  parents-in-law.  And  very  striking 
was  Princess  Thera's  present:  the  Duke  of  Xara's 
portrait,  a  work  of  art  that  had  already  been  seen 
at  exhibitions  in  both  capitals.  But  it  had  little 
likeness  to  the  original  left  and  was  therefore  the 
despair  of  the  princess.  It  was  younger,  more  in- 
decisive, feebler  than  the  prince  looked  now :  a  little 
thinner  than  of  old,  but  with  a  fuller  moustache 
and  a  lightly  curling  beard  on  his  cheeks.  The 
melancholy  eyes  had  acquired  more  of  the  Empress 
Elizabeth's  cold  glance;  in  other  respects  too 
Othomar  resembled  his  mother  more  than  before. 
But  what  was  still  noticeable  in  the  young  prince, 
in  his  nervous  refinement,  was  the  look  of  race,  his 
trenchant  distinction,  his  air  of  lawful  haughtiness. 
He  had  lost  much  of  his  rigidity,  his  stiff  tactless- 
ness, and  had  gained  something  more  resolute  and 


MAJESTY  295 

assured;  and,  in  spite  of  his  colder  look,  this  in- 
spired more  confidence  in  a  crown-prince  than  his 
always  winning  but  somewhat  feeble  presence  of 
former  days.  The  thoughts  seemed  to  be  more 
sharply  outlined  on  his  features,  the  words  to  come 
more  pointedly  from  between  his  lips;  he  seemed 
to  have  more  self-reliance,  to  care  less  for  what 
others  might  think  of  him.  It  was,  although  not 
yet  quite  consciously,  that  unique  princely  feeling 
awakening  within  him:  his  simple,  proud,  innate 
confidence  in  the  single  drop  of  golden  blood  which 
ran  through  his  veins  and  gave  him  his  rights.  .  .  . 

It  was  Professor  Barzia  especially  who,  attached 
as  he  was  to  Othomar  and  treating  him  personally 
every  day,  had  aroused  this  self-confidence  with  his 
words,  which  were  prompted  both  by  his  knowledge 
of  mankind  and  by  his  love  for  the  dynasty,  as  well 
as  by  a  personal  affection  for  the  crown-prince. 
The  cold-water  douches  had  braced  the  prince  up, 
but  the  suggestions  of  the  professor,  who  had 
aroused  Othomar's  latent  practical  qualities  as  it 
were  from  their  subconscious  hiding-place,  had  pro- 
bably been  a  still  more  efficacious  remedy.  The 
prince  had  learnt  to  govern  himself  and  had  become 
dearer  to  the  professor  than  ever.  .  .  . 

This  devotion,  born  of  a  discovery  of  what  others 
did  not  know  to  exist  —  high  qualities  of  tempera- 
ment —  was  enhanced  by  Barzia's  fostering  of 
those  same  qualities;  and,  when  the  prince's  mar- 
riage could  be  fixed,  the  professor  looked  with  as 
much  pride  as  affection  upon  his  patient,  whom  he 
declared  to  be  physically  cured  and  considered,  in 
his  own  mind,  to  be  morally  cured  as  well.  .  .  . 


296  MAJESTY 


Two  days  later  was  the  day  of  the  imperial  wed- 
ding. The  town  swarmed  from  early  morning  with 
the  people  who  had  streamed  in  from  the  environs 
and  who  noisily  thronged  the  narrower  streets. 
For  already  at  an  early  hour  the  main  thoroughfares 
had  been  closed  by  the  infantry,  from  the  fortress 
to  the  Old  Palace  and  the  cathedral.  And  Altara, 
usually  grey,  old,  weatherbeaten,  was  unrecog- 
nizable, gaudy  with  flags,  fresh  with  festoons  of 
greenery,  decked  with  draperies  and  tapestries  hang- 
ing from  its  balconies.  A  warm,  southern  May  sun 
shed  patches  of  light  over  the  town;  and  the  red 
and  blue  and  white  and  green  of  the  waiting  uni- 
forms, with  the  even  flash  of  the  bayonets  above 
them,  drew  broad  lines  of  colour  through  the  city, 
with  a  gaiety  almost  floral,  right  up  to  the  Castle 
of  St.  Ladislas. 

Through  the  streets,  closed  to  public  traffic,  court- 
carriages  drove  to  and  fro,  filled  with  glittering 
uniforms:  royal  guests  who  were  being  carried  to 
St.  Ladislas  or  the  Old  Palace.  There  were  Rus- 
sian, German,  British,  Austrian,  Gothlandic  uni- 
forms; briskly,  as  though  preparing  for  the  cere- 
monial moment,  they  flashed  through  Altara, 
through  its  long,  empty  streets  lined  with  soldiers. 

Beneath  the  chestnuts  on  the  Castle  Road  the 
villas  also  teemed  with  spectators,  sitting  or  moving 
in  the  gardens  and  terraces;  and,  in  the  sunbeams 
that  filtered  through  the  foliage  of  the  trees,  the 
ladies'  light  summer  costumes  and  coloured  sun- 


MAJESTY  297 

shades  cast  variegated  patches:  it  was  as  though 
garden-parties  were  taking  place  from  villa  to  villa, 
while  people  waited  for  the  procession  of  the  bride- 
groom, who,  in  accordance  with  Liparian  etiquette, 
was  to  drive  from  St.  Ladislas  to  fetch  his  bride  from 
the  Old  Palace. 

Eleven  o'clock.  From  the  Fort  of  St.  Ladislas 
booms  the  first  gun;  other  guns  boom  after  it  minute 
by  minute.  A  buzz  of  excitement  passes  along  the 
whole  of  the  Castle  Road.  On  the  almost  im- 
perceptible incline  appear  trumpets  and  kettle- 
drums, preceding  heralds  on  horseback.  Behind 
them  come  the  slashing  throne-guards,  round  the 
gilt  and  crystal  gala-carriages.  The  court  chamber- 
lain, the  Count  of  Threma,  in  the  first;  in  the  second, 
with  the  imperial  crown  and  the  plumed  team  of 
eight  greys  caparisoned  in  scarlet  —  and  the  cheer- 
ing from  the  villas  rises  higher  and  higher  —  the 
emperor  with  the  Duke  of  Xara  by  his  side;  in  the 
following  coaches  the  assembled  majesties  and  high- 
nesses of  Europe:  the  Empress  of  Liparia,  the  Ger- 
man Emperor  and  Empress,  the  King  and  Queen  of 
Gothland,  Russian  grand-dukes,  the  Duke  of  Sparta 
and  the  Prince  of  Naples.  .  .  .  The  imperial  chan- 
cellor, the  ministers,  the  robed  members  of  the  house 
of  peers.  .  .  .  And  the  endless  procession  passes 
slowly  amid  the  roar  of  the  cannon  down  the  Castle 
Road,  through  the  main  streets  and  into  the  heart 
of  the  city.  There,  in  the  Old  Palace,  the  bride 
is  waiting  with  all  her  Austrian  relations:  the  em- 
peror and  empress,  the  Archduke  Albrecht  and  the 
Archduchess  Eudoxie.  .  .  . 


298  MAJESTY 

It  is  here  that  the  marriage-treaty  is  signed,  on 
the  gilt  table,  covered  with  gold  brocade,  upon 
which  the  emperors  and  empresses  of  Liparia  have 
written  their  signatures  since  centuries,  upon  which, 
after  the  imperial  bride  and  bridegroom,  the  august 
witnesses  sign  the  contract.  .  .  . 

Now  the  whole  procession  goes  through  gallery 
after  gallery  to  the  New  Sacristy.  It  is  a  cere- 
monious parade  of  some  minutes'  duration:  the 
trumpeters,  the  heralds,  the  masters  of  ceremonies; 
the  blue-robed  knights  of  St.  Ladislas:  the  white- 
and-gold  throne-guards;  the  Emperor  Oscar  with 
the  Duke  of  Xara,  the  Emperor  of  Austria  with  the 
bride.  .  .  .  Slowly  she  walks  by  her  uncle's  side, 
her  head  a  little  bent,  as  though  beneath  the  weight 
of  her  princess'  coronet,  from  which  the  lace  veil 
floats,  lightly  shading  her  bare  neck,  which  is  studded 
with  drops  of  brilliants.  Her  gown  is  of  stiff, 
heavy  satin  brocade,  embroidered  with  silver-thread 
in  front  and  smothered  in  emblematic  patterns  of 
pearls;  great,  white  velvet  puffed  sleeves  burgeon 
at  her  shoulders;  the  train  of  silver  brocade  and 
white  velvet  is  so  long  that  six  maids-of-honour  bear 
it  after  her,  swaying  from  its  silver  loops.  Behind 
the  maids-of-honour  follow  the  bridesmaids,  dressed 
all  alike,  carrying  similar  bouquets:  they  are  Princess 
Thera,  Princess  Wanda,  German,  English  and  Aus- 
trian princesses.  And  the  majesties  and  highnesses 
follow;  the  procession  flows  into  the  New  Sacristy; 
here  the  cardinal-archbishop,  Primate  of  Liparia, 
with  all  his  mitred  clergy,  receives  the  bridegroom 
and  the  bride.  .  .  . 

In  the  cathedral  waits  the  crowd  of  invited  guests. 


MAJESTY  299 

Despite  the  beams  of  the  summer  sun,  a  mystic 
twilight  of  shadow  hovers  through  the  tall  and 
stately  arches  of  the  cathedral  and  the  daylight 
blossoms  only  on  the  motley  windows  of  the  side- 
chapels;  in  the  vaultings  it  is  even  dark.  But  the 
high  altar  is  one  blaze  of  innumerable  candles.  .  .  . 

The  imperial  chancellor,  the  ministers,  the  am- 
bassadors, the  whole  diplomatic  body,  the  members 
of  both  houses  of  parliament,  the  judges  of  the 
high  court  have  entered;  they  fill  the  tiers  that  have 
been  erected  to  right  and  left.  And  the  whole 
cathedral  is  filled:  one  great  swarm  of  heavy, 
rustling  silks  —  the  low-necked  dresses  of  the  ladies, 
whose  jewels  twinkle  and  flash  —  and  one  blaze 
of  gold  on  the  glittering  military  and  diplomatic 
uniforms,  which  like  great  sparks  light  up  the  twi- 
light of  the  cathedral. 

Then  the  trumpets  sound,  the  organ  peals  its 
jubilant  tones  in  the  solemn  festival-march;  the  first 
procession  enters  through  the  sacristy:  the  German 
Emperor  with  the  Empress  Elizabeth  of  Liparia, 
the  Archduchess  Eudoxie  and  a  long  retinue.  .  .  . 
Now  the  trumpets  sound,  the  organ  peals  unceas- 
ingly; and  the  invited  majesties  with  their  suites 
and  the  representatives  of  the  foreign  powers  enter 
in  group  after  group.  The  canopied  spaces  to 
right  and  left  of  the  choir  begin  to  fill  up. 

Soon  the  second  procession  follows  :  the  dignitaries 
in  front,  with  the  insignia  of  state;  the  Emperor 
Oscar,  leading  the  Duke  of  Xara :  both  wear  over 
their  golden  uniforms  the  long  draped  blue  robes  of 
St.  Ladislas,  with  the  large  white  cross  gleaming  on 
the  left  arm;  four  crown-princes  follow  as  the  bride- 


300  MAJESTY 

groom's  four  witnesses:  the  Duke  of  Wendeholm, 
the  Czarevitch,  the  Duke  of  Sparta  and  the  Prince 
of  Naples;  the  knights  of  St.  Ladislas,  the  officers 
of  the  throne-guards,  equerries  and  pages  follow 
after.  .  .  . 

And  suddenly  a  choir  of  high  voices  vibrates 
crystal-clear  and  proclaims  a  blessing  on  the  bride, 
who  cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord.  .  .  .  The  third 
procession  has  entered  the  cathedral:  the  Emperor 
of  Austria  and  the  Archduke  Albrecht,  leading  the 
bride,  with  her  maids  of  honour  and  her  brides- 
maids; and  she  seems  to  be  one  white  wealth  of 
illustrious  maidenhood  among  her  white  and  floral- 
fragrant  retinue.  And  the  anthem  scatters  its  notes 
as  with  handfuls  of  silver  lilies  before  her  feet; 
her  solemn  advent  arouses  an  emotion  that  quivers 
through  all  that  whirl  of  splendour,  through  the 
whole  cathedral.  Now,  at  last,  appears  the  fourth 
procession:  the  cardinal-archbishop,  Primate  of 
Liparia,  with  his  bishops  and  canons  and  chaplains; 
the  high  ecclesiastics  take  their  seats  in  the  tall 
carved  choir-stalls;  the  rite  begins.  .  .  . 

The  sun  seems  to  have  waited  till  this  moment  to 
come  shooting  down,  through  the  tall,  party-co- 
loured, pointed  windows,  in  which  the  life  of  St. 
Ladislas  glitters  with  its  small,  square,  gem-like 
pictures,  shooting  down  in  a  slanting  sheaf  of  rays 
upon  the  choir,  upon  the  priests,  upon  the  canopies 
under  which  the  majesties  are  sitting,  upon  the  bride- 
groom and  bride.  .  .  .  And  all  the  colours  —  the 
old  gold  of  the  altar,  the  new  gold  of  the  uniforms, 
the  brocades,  the  crown-jewels  —  flame  up  as  though 
the  sun  were  setting  them  ablaze:  one  fire  of 


MAJESTY  301 

changing  sparks  which,  together  with  the  number- 
less candles  on  the  altar,  suddenly  irradiates  the 
church.  The  diadems  of  the  princesses  are  like 
crowns  of  flame,  the  orders  of  the  princes  like  a 
firmament  of  stars.  The  acolytes  swing  incense 
which  is  wafted  misty  blue,  delicate,  transparent  in 
the  sunshine;  the  sunshine  filters  through  the  blonde 
lace  veil  of  the  kneeling  bride,  lights  a  glowing  fire 
over  her  white-and-silver  train,  illuminates  her  as 
with  an  apotheosis  of  light  that  reflects  a  maidenly 
pallor  upon  her.  Her  bridegroom  kneels  beside 
her,  wholly  enfolded  in  his  blue  robe,  with  on  his 
arm  the  sheen  of  the  white  cross.  Both  now  hold 
long  tapers  in  their  hands.  And  the  primate,  with 
his  jewelled  mitre  and  his  stiff  gold  dalmatic  covered 
with  jewelled  scrolls,  raises  his  eyes,  spreads  his 
hands  on  high  and  stretches  them  in  benediction 
above  the  bent  imperial  heads.  .  .  . 

The  chant  swells  high  again :  the  Te  Deitm 
laudamus,  as  though  the  waves  of  the  voices  were 
rising  upon  the  waves  of  the  organ,  higher  and 
higher,  up  through  the  cathedral  to  the  sky  in  one 
ecstasy  of  sacred  music.  The  old,  granite,  giant 
fabric  seems  to  quiver  with  emotion,  as  though  the 
music  became  its  soul,  and  sends  forth  over  Altara 
from  all  its  bells  a  swelling  sea  of  sound,  bronze  in 
the  depths  and  molten  out  of  every  metal  into  gold 
of  crystal  purity  in  the  highest  height  of  audible 
sound.  .  .  . 

An  hour  later.  On  the  closed  Cathedral  Square 
movement  begins  again,  among  the  waiting  gala- 
carriages.  Now  the  procession  returns  to  St.  Ladis- 
las,  but  behind  the  Emperor  Oscar's  carriage  Otho- 


302  MAJESTY 

mar  and  Valerie  now  ride  together.  And  the  city 
cheers  and  shouts  its  hurrahs;  the  houses  groan  with 
the  clamour  among  all  the  flags  and  trophies.  The 
guards  present  arms;  and  amid  this  festive  uproar 
it  passes  unperceived  how  yonder  in  the  smaller 
streets  fighting  goes  on,  arrests  are  made,  a  well- 
known  anarchist  is  almost  murdered  by  the  imperi- 
alistic populace.  .  .  . 

With  its  costly  pageant,  now  heightened  by  the 
white  presence  of  the  young  Duchess  of  Xara  and 
her  own  retinue,  the  endless  and  endless  procession 
returns,  through  the  town,  up  the  Castle  Road;  and 
there  too  the  villas  now  obtain  a  sight  of  Valerie 
and  cheer  and  cheer  and  cheer.  .  .  . 

It  is  in  the  white  throne-room  that  Othomar  and 
Valerie  hold  their  court;  one  and  all  defile  before 
them:  the  ministers  and  ambassadors,  the  members 
of  both  houses,  of  the  courts  of  justice,  corporations 
and  deputations.  After  the  court,  the  breakfast, 
at  which  the  table  glitters  with  the  ceremonial  gold 
and  jewelled  plate,  used  only  at  imperial  weddings. 
After  the  breakfast,  the  last  observance :  in  the  gold 
hall  —  a  vast  low  hall,  Byzantine  in  architecture 
and  decoration,  ages  old  and  unchanged  —  the 
torch-dance;  the  procession  of  the  ministers,  who 
carry  long,  lighted  links  in  gilt  handles,  while  Otho- 
mar and  Valerie  keep  on  inviting  the  highnesses  ac- 
cording to  rank,  invite  all  the  highnesses  in  turns 
and  march  round  behind  the  ministers.  ...  It  is  a 
monotonous  ceremony,  continually  repeated:  the 
ministers  with  the  torches,  Othomar  with  a  princess 
and  surrounded  by  the  Knights  of  St.  Ladislas, 
Valerie  with  a  prince  and  all  her  white  suite;  and 


MAJESTY  303 

it  is  a  relief  when  the  function  is  finished  and  the 
newly-married  couple  have  withdrawn  to  change 
their  dress.  Then  they  appear:  Othomar  as  com- 
manding officer  of  the  Xara  Cuirassiers,  Valerie 
in  her  white  cloth  travelling-dress  and  hat  with  white 
feathers;  and  they  make  their  adieus.  An  open 
landau  awaits  them;  and  with  a  compact  escort  of 
Xara  Cuirassiers  they  drive  anew  through  the 
town,  drive  in  every  direction,  showing  themselves 
everywhere,  bowing  to  one  and  all,  and  at  last  drive 
out  to  the  castle  where  they  will  spend  the  first  days 
of  the  honeymoon :  Castle  Zanthos,  quite  near  the 
town,  on  the  broad  river.  .  .  . 

And  the  old  weather-beaten  capital,  which  re- 
mains full  of  majesties,  which  still  flutters  with 
pennants,  which  in  the  evening  is  one  yellow  flame 
and  red  glow  of  fireworks  and  illumination,  seems 
all  the  same,  without  the  newly-married  couple,  to 
have  lost  the  attraction  which  turned  it  into  a  centre 
of  festivity  and  splendour  and  imperial  ceremony; 
and  in  the  evening,  despite  the  illuminations  and 
fireworks  and  gala-performances,  the  Central  Sta- 
tion is  besieged  by  thousands  who  are  leaving.  .  .  . 


It  was  months  after  the  wedding  of  the  Duke 
of  Xara  that  the  Emperor  Oscar,  entering  his  work- 
room very  early  in  the  morning  and  moving  towards 
his  writing-table,  caught  sight  of  a  piece  of  card- 
board, with  large,  black  letters  pasted  on  it,  lying 
on  the  floor  by  the  window.  He  did  not  pick  it  up ; 


3o4  MAJESTY 

though  he  was  alone,  he  did  not  turn  pale,  but  on 
his  low  forehead  the  thick  veins  swelled  with  rage 
to  feel  that  he  was  not  safe  from  their  treason  even 
in  his  own  room.  He  rang  and  asked  for  his  valet, 
a  trusted  man: 

"  Pick  up  that  thing!  "  he  commanded.  And  he 
roared,  through  the  silence,  u  How  did  it  get  here?  " 

The  valet  turned  pale.  He  read  the  threatening 
words  of  abuse,  with  their  big,  fat  letters,  on  the 
ground  before  stooping  and  taking  the  card  in  his 
trembling  hand. 

"How  did  it  get  here?"  repeated  the  emperor, 
stamping  his  foot. 

The  valet  swore  that  he  did  not  know.  In  the 
morning  no  one  was  allowed  to  enter  the  room 
except  himself;  he  had  come  half  an  hour  ago  to 
open  the  windows  and  then  had  seen  nothing: 

"  The  only  explanation,  sir,  is  that  some  one  must 
have  stolen  into  the  park  and  flung  it  through  the 
window.  .  .  ." 

This  doubtless  was  the  only  explanation,  but  it 
was  an  explanation  that  irritated  the  emperor 
greatly.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  the  em- 
peror had  found  such  notices  in  the  intimacy  of  his 
writing-room.  The  result  was  the  sudden  arrest  of 
servants,  of  soldiers  belonging  to  the  various  guards 
in  the  Imperial;  but  arrests  and  enquiries  had 
brought  nothing  to  light  and  therefore  made  an  all 
the  more  painful  impression.  The  guards  of  the 
palaces,  the  guards  at  the  gilt  railings  of  the  park, 
where  this  merged  into  the  Elizabeth  Parks  —  the 
public  gardens  of.  the  capital  —  were  already  in- 
creased; the  secret  police,  the  emperor's  own  police, 


MAJESTY  305 

even  kept  a  sharp  watch  on  the  guards  themselves. 

The  Emperor  Oscar  looked  fixedly  at  the  valet; 
for  a  moment  the  thought  rose  in  him  to  have  the 
man  himself  examined,  but  he  at  once  realized  the 
absurdity  of  any  such  suspicion:  the  man  had  been 
his  personal  servant  for  years  and  years,  was  en- 
tirely devoted  to  him  and  stood  answering  Oscar's 
long  stare  with  calm,  respectful  eyes,  evidently  pon- 
dering the  mystery  of  the  strange  riddle. 

"  Burn  that  thing,"  commanded  the  emperor, 
"  and  don't  talk  about  it." 

Subsequently  Oscar  had  a  long  interview  with 
the  head  of  his  secret  police,  with  whom  he  had 
lately  had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied:  secret  print- 
ing-presses of  anarchist  papers,  which  were  con- 
tinually being  distributed,  had  been  ferreted  out; 
a  plot  to  wreck  the  imperial  train  on  its  way  from 
Castel  Xaveria,  the  summer-palace  in  Xara,  to 
Lipara  had  been  frustrated;  suspicion  of  being  con- 
nected with  anarchist  committees  had  fallen  upon  a 
clerk  in  one  of  the  government-offices  and  even 
upon  a  young  officer  and  it  was  proved  that  the  sus- 
picion was  correct  in  both  cases.  Quite  recently  the 
police  had  discovered  a  workshop  in  which  men 
were  taught  how  to  manufacture  dynamite-bombs 
and  infernal  machines.  But  who  the  insolent  mis- 
creants were  who  succeeded  in  flinging  their  threat- 
ening letters  into  the  emperor's  own  room :  this  they 
had  not  been  able  to  discover.  For  a  whole  week 
the  windows  had  been  watched  from  the  park  and 
all  that  time  nothing  had  been  seen;  it  was  now  a 
couple  of  days  since  that  secret  watch  had  been 
given  up.  The  head  of  the  secret  police  felt  con- 


3o6  MAJESTY 

vinced  that  the  culprits  were  lurking  in  the  Imperial 
itself  and  acquainted  with  the  emperor's  private 
habits.  Sudden  visits  were  paid  to  the  rooms  of 
any  servants  at  the  Imperial  of  whom  there  was 
the  least  doubt;  and,  when  a  groom  was  found  to 
be  in  possession  of  an  anarchist  leaflet  containing 
words  of  insult  directed  against  the  emperor,  the 
man  was  banished  to  one  of  the  convict  sections  of 
the  eastern  quick-silver-mines.  This  banishment 
was  the  introduction  to  numberless  other  banish- 
ments; they  followed  one  another  in  quick  suc- 
cession; the  victims  were  soldiers,  sailors,  many 
minor  provincial  officials :  the  press  had  even  ceased 
to  report  all  the  banishments.  The  censorship  was 
rendered  more  severe;  newspapers  were  continually 
being  suspended,  their  editors  fined  and  imprisoned; 
the  imperialist  papers,  Count  Myxila's  organs,  al- 
most despotically  indicated  the  required  tone.  A 
socialist  meeting  was  dispersed  by  hussars  with 
drawn  swords;  serious  disturbances  followed  in  the 
capital  and  infected  the  other  large  towns,  Thra- 
cyna,  Xara,  even  Altara.  A  strike  of  dock-labour- 
ers filled  Lipara  for  weeks  with  rising  insubordina- 
tion; policemen  were  cruelly  murdered  at  the  docks 
in  broad  daylight. 

The  Duke  of  Mena-Doni  was  the  Emperor  Os- 
car's right  hand  during  this  period;  and  his  rough 
displays  of  force  kept  the  capital  so  far  in  subjection 
that  no  riot  burst  out,  that  the  everyday  life  of 
sunny,  laughing  luxury  went  on,  that  the  elegant 
carriages  continued  every  afternoon  at  five  o'clock 
to  stream  to  the  Elizabeth  Parks,  where  the  Em- 
press or  the  Duchess  of  Xara  still  showed  them- 


MAJESTY  307 

selves  daily  for  a  moment.  But  thousands  of  pro- 
tecting eyes  were  secretly  supervising  this  apparent 
carelessness;  the  troops  were  confined  to  barracks; 
gleaming  escorts  of  cuirassiers  accompanied  the  im- 
perial landaus. 

The  empress  also  had  asked  Othomar  to  abandon 
his  solitary  morning  rides  and  never  to  show  himself 
unattended.  The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Xara  in- 
habited the  Crown  Palace,  a  comparatively  new 
building  on  the  quays,  where  they  kept  up  an  ex- 
tensive court;  and  in  this  palace  the  emperor  also 
caused  domiciliary  visits  to  be  made  and  it  appeared 
that  there  were  anarchists  lurking  among  the  staff. 

This  treason  within  their  very  palaces  kept  the 
empress  in  a  constant  shudder  of  terror:  she  lived 
in  these  days  an  unceasing  life  of  dread  whenever 
she  was  separated  from  the  emperor.  For  she  was 
least  terrified  when  she  showed  herself  by  Oscar's 
side,  at  exhibitions,  at  public  ceremonies,  at  the 
Opera ;  and  this  was  strange :  she  did  not  at  such 
times  think  of  him,  but,  if  they  were  not  with  her, 
thought  rather  of  her  children,  as  though  the  ca- 
tastrophe could  happen  only  at  some  place  where  she 
would  not  be  present. 

The  empress  saw  in  Othomar  so  very  much  her 
own  son  that,  in  the  intimacy  of  their  morning  con- 
versations —  for  the  crown-prince  still  paid  his 
mother  a  short  visit  every  morning  —  she  was  sur- 
prised not  to  find  in  him  her  own  dread,  but  on  the 
contrary  all  her  own  resignation,  which  was  the 
reverse  side  of  it.  But  since  his  marriage  she  had 
found  him  altogether  changed,  no  longer,  in  these 
short  moments  of  their  private  intercourse,  com- 


3o8  MAJESTY 

plaining,  hesitating,  searching,  but  speaking  calmly 
of  what  he  must  do,  filled  with  an  evident  harmony 
that  gave  a  restful  assurance  to  his  words,  his 
gestures  and  even  his  actions.  With  this  assurance 
he  retained  a  quiet,  dignified  modesty:  he  did  not 
put  his  views  forward  at  all  violently;  he  continued 
to  possess  that  receptiveness  for  the  views  of  others 
which  had  always  been  one  of  his  most  prominent 
and  attractive  qualities.  He  was  undoubtedly  old 
for  his  young  years:  any  one  who  did  not  know 
better  would  have  given  him  more  than  his  twenty- 
three  years,  now  that  he  was  allowing  his  crisp 
beard  to  grow.  .  .  .  And  yet,  yet,  especially  in  these 
troubled  days,  his  old  fears  would  often  well  up 
within  him  and  he  would  remain  sitting  alone  for 
minutes  at  a  time,  staring  at  a  vague  point  in  his 
room,  listening  to  the  murmurs  of  the  future,  as 
he  had  listened  in  that  haunting  night  among  his 
forefathers  at  Castel  Vaza.  He  then  felt  that, 
suddenly,  as  with  a  garment,  all  his  new  resignation 
in  life  was  slipping  from  him,  falling  from  his 
shoulders.  But  he  had  learnt  so  to  govern  himself 
that  nobody,  not  his  father,  not  his  mother,  not 
even  the  crown-princess,  noticed  anything  of  this 
mental  dizziness,  which  left  him  ice-cold  in  his  short 
periods  of  solitude,  doubting  his  right,  full  of 
strange,  soft  compassion  for  his  people.  .  .  . 

It  was,  actually,  the  old  illness  which  thus,  period- 
ically, seethed  in  him  again  like  an  evil  sap,  flowing 
through  his  veins,  enfeebling  his  nerves,  crushing 
him  internally,  as  though  he  would  never  be  cured 
of  it.  But  he  grew  accustomed  to  it,  no  longer  felt 
despair  because  of  it,  even  knew,  during  the  few 


MAJESTY  309 

minutes  that  the  malady  lasted,  that  it  would  pass 
and  afterwards  regained  that  sense  of  harmony 
which  above  all  constituted  his  resignation. 

It  was  in  these  days  of  silent  fermentation  that 
there  was  talk  of  a  marriage  between  Princess 
Thera  and  the  Prince  of  Naples;  nothing  was  yet 
decided  between  the  two  families,  but  the  young 
prince  was  invited  to  Lipara  to  attend  the  great 
autumn  manoeuvres.  Shoots  were  arranged;  dif- 
ferent festivities  followed  one  upon  the  other. 
Othomar  had  in  these  days  to  combat  those  sudden 
weaknesses  more  than  ever :  a  strange  feeling,  a 
shivering,  a  mysterious  terror  remained  with  him 
and  no  longer  left  him,  a  terror  which  he  dared  not 
analyse,  for  fear  of  discovering  motives  which 
would  cause  him  to  lose  his  calmness  entirely. 
There  revived  within  him  the  recollection  of  the 
fact  that  shortly  after  his  marriage  he  had  dreamt 
a  dream  more  or  less  similar  to  his  former  dream : 
the  sinister  capital  filling  with  crape.  It  happened 
while  he  was  still  residing  with  his  young  wife  at 
Castel  Zanthos  and  he  had  attached  no  importance 
to  it,  because  he  considered  that  this  second  dream 
was  only  a  shadow  of  the  former  one,  only  the 
remembrance  of  what  had  already  happened  and 
nothing  more.  But  now,  in  these  days  of  busy 
celebrations  in  honour  of  the  prince  who  was  visit- 
ing their  court,  with  the  ferment  of  popular  dis- 
content like  a  turbid,  gloomy  element  beneath  the 
surface  brilliancy  of  all  their  imperial  display,  the 
memory  of  it  revived  and  the  terrors  and  shudders 
became  more  and  more  plainly  defined  in  his  ima- 
gination and  at  one  moment  he  felt  his  former  ner- 


310  MAJESTY 

vous  weakness  come  over  him  to  such  an  extent  that 
he  found  an  excuse  to  summon  Professor  Barzia 
from  Altara  and  had  a  long  interview  with  the 
specialist  of  which  he  did  not  even  speak  to  the 
Duchess  of  Xara.  When  the  professor  had  gone, 
Othomar  felt  relieved  and  strengthened;  only  the 
thought  lingered  within  him  that  it  was  not  right 
for  a  future  sovereign  to  be  so  much  under  the 
influence  of  a  stronger  mind  as  he  was  under  that  of 
Barzia ;  and  he  proposed  next  time  not  to  call  in  the 
professor's  power  of  suggestion,  but  to  cure  himself, 
in  the  privacy  of  his  own  soul.  This  plan,  to  rely 
on  his  own  strength  in  future,  made  him  find  himself 
again  for  good  and  all.  .  .  . 

The  day  after  his  interview  with  Barzia,  he  spent 
the  whole  morning  and  afternoon  in  the  company  of 
the  Prince  of  Naples,  with  whom  he  visited  different 
places  and,  in  so  doing,  displayed  a  gaiety  and  live- 
liness which  were  rarely  witnessed  in  the  Duke  of 
Xara.  The  members  of  their  suite  were  astonished 
at  this  radiant  cheerfulness  of  the  crown-prince,  in 
whom  they  had  grown  used  to  perceiving  always  a 
strain  of  melancholy.  That  evening  there  was  a 
great  state-banquet  at  the  Imperial.  After  dinner, 
the  imperial  family  were  to  accompany  their  guest 
to  the  Opera,  where  a  gala-performance  was  to 
take  place  and  a  famous  tenor  was  to  sing. 

In  these  days,  whenever  the  imperial  family  ap- 
peared in  public,  severe  precautionary  measures 
were  taken  under  the  guise  of  glittering  display.  A 
strong  and  close-packed  escort  of  cuirassiers 
pranced  round  the  carriages  which  drove  that  night 
to  the  great  opera-house.  The  street  at  the  side 


MAJESTY  311 

of  the  building  containing  the  emperor's  private 
entrance  was  closed  off;  a  guard  of  honour  lined  the 
staircase;  the  secret  police  mingled  with  the  ex- 
pectant audience,  which  included  all  the  smart  so- 
ciety of  the  capital.  .  .  . 

The  imperial  box,  with  its  dark-violet  draperies 
and  gold  tassels,  was  just  over  the  stage  of  the 
colossal  theatre.  The  first  act  was  finished  —  they 
were  playing  A'ida  —  when  the  trumpet-blasts 
clanged  out  from  the  orchestra  and  the  august 
personages  appeared :  the  emperor,  the  empress,  the 
Prince  of  Naples,  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Xara, 
Princess  Thera.  And  their  entry  seemed  to  elec- 
trify the  hitherto  dull,  waiting,  nervously  indifferent 
mood  of  the  crowded  house,  as  though,  upon  their 
appearance,  the  light  in  the  lustres  shone  more  bril- 
liantly, the  house  blazed  out  with  all  the  changeful 
flickerings  of  its  jewels,  all  its  flashing  gilt,  all  the 
curiosity  of  the  bright  eyes  that  gazed  at  the  im- 
perial centre-group;  as  though  the  ladies'  costumes 
suddenly  blossomed  out  with  one  rustle  of  heavy 
silken  fabrics,  while  the  unfurled  fans  fluttered  to 
and  fro  as  though  a  breeze  were  blowing  through 
many  flowers  in  unstinted  light.  .  .  . 

Then  the  curtain  rising  on  the  second  act,  with  all 
its  melodrama  of  royal  Egyptian  state:  the  victory 
after  the  war  and  the  consequent  dances;  the  hero's 
love  for  the  Ethiopian  slave;  and  the  Pharaoh's 
jealous  daughter  and  the  procession  of  the  gods 
with  the  sackbuts:  all  sung,  orchestrated,  swelling 
symphonically  in  a  square  frame  against  a  painted 
background;  a  stirring  picture  of  royal  Egyptian 
antiquity  chanted  before  the  eyes  of  modern  royalty, 


3i2  MAJESTY 

of  a  modern  audience,  indifferent  to  the  rest  so 
long  as  they  met  wherever  society  decided  that 
they  should  meet  at  the  moment,  under  the  eyes 
of  the  emperor  and  his  family  and  his  illustrious 
young  guest.  .  .  .  The  passions  on  the  stage  un- 
bridling themselves  in  swelling  bursts  of  music,  a 
world  of  music,  of  love  and  despair,  of  war  and 
triumph  and  priestly  ambition  in  music,  all  music, 
as  though  life  were  music,  music  the  soul  and  es- 
sence of  the  world.  .  .  .  And,  beneath  the  glamour 
of  this  music  and  of  this  factitious  life,  the  visible 
acting  of  the  players,  the  glory  of  the  famous  tenor, 
with  his  too-modern  head,  his  dress  marked  by  un- 
real because  unwarlike  splendour,  his  bows  and  his 
smile  aimed  at  the  real  world  outside  his  small, 
framed  world  of  make-believe,  aimed  at  the  audience 
that  applauded  after  the  emperor  had  deigned  to 
clap  his  hands.  .  .  . 

It  was  at  this  moment,  this  moment  of  ovation, 
this  moment  of  lustrous  triumph  for  the  tenor,  of 
applause  led  by  the  imperial  hands.  It  was  at  this 
moment:  the  Emperor  Oscar  turning  to  his  aide-de- 
camp, the  Marquis  of  Xardi,  behind  him  .  .  .  the 
aide  listening  respectfully  to  his  majesty's  command 
that  he  should  summon  the  singer  to  the  withdraw- 
ing-room  of  the  imperial  box  .  .  .  the  Empress 
Elizabeth  and  the  Duchess  of  Xara,  glittering  in 
their  gala,  their  jewels,  in  smiling  conversation  with 
the  young  foreign  crown-prince  who  was  their  guest 
.  .  .  Othomar  still  with  his  gaiety  of  the  afternoon, 
jesting  with  Thera  and  the  ladies-in-waiting  .  .  . 
the  whole  house  gazing,  when  the  curtain  had  fallen 


MAJESTY  313 

for  the  last  time,  at  all  of  them,  in  their  blaze  of 
luxury  and  light.   .  .  . 

At  this  moment,  in  the  topmost  gallery  a  sudden 
tumult,  a  struggle  of  soldiers  and  police  with  one 
man.  ...  A  sudden  rough  scrimmage  up  there  in 
the  midst  of  the  most  mundane  expansion  of  aris- 
tocratic pageantry.  And  all  eyes  no  longer  directed 
to  the  imperial  box,  but  upwards.  .  .  .  Then,  the 
man,  struggling,  releasing  himself  with  superhuman 
strength  from  the  grasp  of  his  assailants,  surging 
forwards,  from  out  of  their  throng,  like  a  black 
lightning-flash  of  fate:  dark,  curly  head,  eyes  flash- 
ing hatred,  fixed  and  fanatical,  one  arm  suddenly 
outstretched  towards  the  imperial  grandeur  below, 
as  though  at  a  target,  with  inexorable  aim.  The 
whole  house  one  tumult,  one  shout,  one  shriek; 
wide  gestures  of  helpless  arms:  all  this  very  quick, 
lasting  barely  a  second.  ...  A  shot  .  .  .  and  yet 
another  shot.  .  .  . 

The  emperor  is  hit  in  the  breast;  he  falls  against 
the  empress,  whose  bare,  jewelled  bosom  he  sud- 
denly soils  with  blood,  which  at  once  soaks  his 
gold  uniform  through  and  through  .  .  .  not  golden 
blood:  rich  red  blood.  .  .  .  But  the  empress 
throws  up  her  arms  in  despair;  her  strident  scream 
rings  through  the  house.  She  falls  back  into  the 
embrace  of  the  Duchess  of  Xara.  The  emperor  has 
sunk  into  the  arms  of  Xardi  and  of  Othomar;  a 
furious  oath  forces  its  way  through  his  tight- 
clenched  teeth,  while  he  tears  open  his  gory  uniform 
so  fiercely  that  the  buttons  fly  around  him.  .  .  . 


3i4  MAJESTY 


Outside,  the  Opera  Square,  brightly  lighted  with 
many-armed,  monumental  lamp-posts,  had  at  once 
become  dark  and  swarming,  filled  with  a  vast  mob; 
the  whole  town  poured  into  it  from  every  street; 
the  alarm  drew  everybody  thither,  as  though  with  a 
magnet.  Detachments  of  hussars  were  already 
moving  through  the  town,  keeping  order  among  the 
excited  populace;  the  Duke  of  Mena-Doni  was 
everywhere  at  once,  trampling  down  the  revolution 
with  the  military  at  his  command  in  whatsoever 
corner  it  seemed  to  lift  its  head.  The  sky  above 
was  dark  and  frowning.  It  began  to  rain.  .  .  . 

The  rumour  sped  that  the  emperor  had  died.  It 
was  not  true.  Wrestling  for  breath,  the  sovereign 
lay  in  the  crush-room  of  the  opera-house,  amidst  the 
panic  of  his  family,  of  his  suite,  of  the  hurrying 
doctors.  He  must  not  be  moved,  they  said.  He 
insisted.  He  refused  to  die  here.  He  was  set 
on  returning  to  his  Imperial.  And,  straining  the 
springs  of  his  energy,  he  commanded,  he  drew  him- 
self up,  with  the  blood  spurting  from  his  throat; 
Othomar  and  the  aides  supported  him.  .  .  . 

Outside,  in  the  square,  the  mob  grew  in  numbers, 
the  panic  increased,  riot  seethed  up  from  among 
those  black  clusters  of  people.  Continual  fights 
burst  out  between  groups  of  men,  dock-labourers, 
and  the  guard  in  front  of  the  building,  the  police. 
The  court-carriages  returned  empty,  under  escort, 
to  the  palace. 

Other  carriages,  cabs,   tried  here  and  there  to 


MAJESTY  315 

force  a  way  through  the  people;  they  were  sur- 
rounded by  cuirassiers,  who  protected  them  with 
drawn  swords.  Volumes  of  curses  and  abuse  spat- 
tered up  against  them,  against  the  vaguely  trans- 
parent windows,  behind  which  were  patches  of  light 
colours,  flashing  sparks  of  jewels.  Women's  scared 
eyes  peered  out  fixedly,  askance,  without  moving. 

In  the  corridors,  on  the  huge,  monumental  stair- 
case of  the  opera-house,  people  hustled  one  another, 
fought  to  get  through;  then  suddenly  all  eyes,  star- 
ing wide,  looked  up  above :  the  emperor  was  passing, 
bleeding,  panting  for  breath,  surrounded  by  his  kin. 
...  A  feeling  of  awe  stopped  the  crush  for  a 
moment;  then  they  pressed  on  again.  .  .  .  Ladies 
fled  till  they  found  themselves  behind  the  scenes, 
where  they  mingled  their  aristocracy  with  the  bo- 
hemianism  of  the  actors  and  actresses,  all  mixed  up, 
confused,  amidst  the  terrified,  humming  crowd  of 
ballet-girls,  priestesses  of  Isis.  Gratuities  were 
lavished :  anything  for  a  carriage,  a  cab.  .  .  . 

The  Duchess  of  Yemena  stood  there  with  her 
daughters;  they  were  looking  out  for  their  carriage, 
which  they  had  sent  for  at  least  ten  times.  ...  A 
stage-carpenter  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently: 
he  did  not  know  where  to  get  a  carriage  from. 

"  I  won't  wait  any  longer,"  said  the  duchess, 
shuddering. 

The  girls  clung  to  her,  sobbing  hysterically. 
She  obtained  a  leather  bag  from  an  actress;  she 
hastily  took  off  her  jewels,  ordered  the  girls  to 
do  the  same.  They  crammed  them  into  the  bag. 
She  slipped  a  gold  coin  into  a  dresser's  hand, 
asked  her  to  pin  up  their  trains,  to  pin  them  high, 


3i6  MAJESTY 

asked  her  to  find  them  some  black  shoes.  Other 
ladies,  waiting  and  half-swooning  with  fright,  looked 
at  her,  saw  her  thus,  strangely  practical.  She  suc- 
ceeded in  buying  three  long  black  cloaks  and  three 
black  hats  from  a  group  of  chorus-girls,  flung  one 
cloak  over  herself,  flung  the  others  over  the  sobbing 
little  marchionesses. 

"  I'm  frightened,  mamma !  "  sobbed  Eleonore. 

The  duchess  was  determined  to  get  home  some- 
how: 

"  Come,  come  along!  "  she  urged,  driving  the 
two  girls  before  her. 

The  other  ladies,  in  alarm,  watched  them  dis- 
appear through  a  back-door  into  a  side-street.  .  .  . 

The  duchess  pressed  the  bag  with  the  jewels  to 
her: 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  cry;  keep  your  heads!  " 
she  ordered  her  daughters.  '  Walk  on  quietly  and 
not  too  fast.  Wrap  your  cloaks  well  round  you." 

She  walked  on,  tall  and  erect  between  the  two 
little  trembling  marchionesses,  in  those  chorus-girls' 
clothes;  rain  poured  down.  Clusters  of  people  ran 
up  against  them;  they  mingled  with  them;  for  a 
moment  she  lost  Helene: 

"  Wait  a  moment !  "  she  said  to  Eleonore. 

And  they  remained  standing  amid  the  press  of 
people;  troops  came  jogging  on;  socialistic  songs 
of  triumph  carolled  up  coarsely.  .  .  .  Then  she 
went  back  with  Eleonore,  pushing,  shoving,  giving 
Helene  an  opportunity  to  get  back  to  her: 

"  Now  both  give  me  an  arm :  here !  .  .  ." 

They  did  as  they  were  told ;  thus,  seemingly  calm, 
slowly,  slowly,  as  though  they  were  sight-seers  who 


MAJESTY  317 

had  also  come  to  look,  they  reached  the  Opera 
Square,  where  the  mob  was  swarming  up  against 
the  guards.  Carriages  passed,  at  a  walking-pace, 
escorted  by  soldiers.  A  wretched  old  hired  growler, 
with  a  gaunt  hack,  pushed  a  muddy  wheel  right  up 
against  her,  grazing  her  knees;  a  cuirassier  of 
the  escort  raised  his  sword  threateningly  against 
her.  .  .  . 

"  My  God !  "  she  cried,  awe-struck,  clutching  the 
children. 

She  had  first  recognized  the  driver,  in  a  dirty 
coat:  a  footman  from  the  Imperial,  whose  face  she 
remembered.  Then,  with  a  swift  glance  into  the 
cab,  she  recognized  —  just  close  to  a  lamp-post  with 
a  number  of  ornamental  branches  —  the  emperor 
leaning  against  Othomar  and  her  own  stepson, 
Xardi.  But  the  marquis  did  not  recognize  her,  for, 
startled  by  the  great  light,  he  quickly  turned  his 
face  away  and  bent,  sombrely,  protectingly,  over  the 
emperor  and  the  crown-prince.  .  .  . 

The  girls  had  seen  nothing;  the  duchess  said  no- 
thing, afraid  of  betraying  them.  .  .  .  She  felt  all 
her  pluck  and  assurance  forsake  her;  she  shuddered 
from  head  to  foot.  She  could  not  restrain  her  tears 
for  her  poor  emperor,  who  was  dying,  who  was  re- 
turning to  his  palace  in  such  a  guise.  A  great,  dark 
terror  took  possession  of  her.  The  rain  trickled 
over  her  bosom.  .  .  . 

"  Keep  your  cloaks  round  you !  "  she  again  ad- 
monished her  daughters. 

Then  she  went  on,  dragging  herself  along  and  the 
girls  as  well,  beside  her,  stumbling  on  their  feet.  .  .  . 

But  a  whirl  of  people  swept  across  the  Opera 


3i8  MAJESTY 

Square;  there  seemed  to  be  a  fight  in  progress:  a 
heap  of  men,  surrounding  a  group  of  police-con- 
stables and  soldiers,  in  whose  midst  a  madman 
wrestled  with  forcible  gestures;  a  coarse  clamour 
rose  on  high.  At  the  lighted,  open  windows  of  the 
opera-house,  above  the  perystile,  still  decked  in  its 
bright,  festal  illumination,  face  after  face,  appeared, 
actors  still  in  costume  looked  on.  .  .  . 

"  Mamma,  we  shall  never  get  through !  "  sobbed 
Eleonore,  softly. 

The  duchess  thought  in  despair  of  the  great  Em- 
press Avenue  in  which  their  town-house  stood;  it 
was  so  far  away :  how  would  they  ever  reach  it,  how 
would  they  ever  get  home?  .  .  . 

"  They're  murdering  him,  they're  murdering  him, 
they  sha'n't  murder  him!  "  bleated  the  people  round 
them. 

Then  the  duchess  understood,  then  she  saw  and 
the  girls  also  saw :  the  mob,  furious,  foaming  at  the 
mouth  —  avengers  now,  though  at  first  malcon- 
tents, perhaps  even  anarchists:  such  were  the  Lipa- 
rians !  —  the  mob  pressing  against  the  soldiers  and 
constables,  in  the  midsj:  of  whom  the  emperor's  mur- 
derer still  made  fight  with  his  large,  frenzied  gest- 
ures. And  the  avengers  stormed  this  circle  of  pro- 
tecting police;  they  dragged  the  man  out.  .  .  . 
They  dragged  him  right  under  the  eyes  of  the 
duchess,  of  her  daughters.  .  .  . 

"  Ugh,  ugh,  ugh !  "  they  roared  brutally,  men  and 
women  alike. 

They  tore  the  clothes  from  his  body,  they  beat 
him;  and  he  howled  back.  They  struck  him  to  the 
ground  with  cudgels  and  trampled  on  him  with 


MAJESTY  319 

coarse  shoes;  his  blood  flowed;  his  brains  spattered 
from  his  crushed  skull.  .  .  . 

Then,  at  the  sight  of  blood,  they  became  like 
wild  beasts;  they  grinned  and  smacked  their  lips 
with  delight. 

Eleonore  fell  back  fainting  against  the  duchess, 
but  Alexa  shook  her  by  the  arm: 

"  Keep  up,  keep  up,  for  God's  sake  keep  up, 
can't  you?"  she  cried  out  aloud.  "I  can  do  no- 
thing with  you  if  you  faint!  " 

Her  strong  hands  goaded  the  little  marchioness 
back  into  life  and  again  she  dragged  them  on, 
staggering.  .  .  . 


The  emperor,  who  refused  to  die,  lived  by  sheer 
energy  for  two  days  longer,  with  his  perforated 
lungs,  panting  for  breath. 

And  such  were  the  Liparians:  the  man,  the  mur- 
derer, seized  in  the  opera-house,  despite  the  police 
and  the  guard,  had  been  battered  into  a  shapeless 
mass  by  the  malcontents  themselves. '.  .  . 

And  such  is  life:  the  emperor  of  a  great  country 
was  shot  dead  by  a  fanatic  in  the  midst  of  his  kith 
and  kin  and  life  went  on.  .  .  .  The  country  was  as 
extensive  as  before:  a  rich,  naturally  beautiful, 
southern  empire;  tall,  snow-clad  mountains  in  the 
north;  medieval  and  modern  towns,  lying  in  broad 
provinces;  the  residential  capital  itself,  white  in  its 
golden  autumn  sunshine,  with  its  Imperial,  beneath 
a  blue  sky,  close  to  the  blue  sea,  round  which  circled 
the  quays.  .  .  . 


320  MAJESTY 

And  such  is  the  life  of  rulers:  the  emperor  lay 
dead,  killed  by  a  simple  pistol-shot;  and  the  court 
chamberlain  was  very  busy,  the  masters  of  ceremon- 
ies unable  to  agree;  the  pomp  of  an  imperial  funeral 
was  prepared  in  all  its  intricacy;  through  all  Europe 
sped  the  after-shudder  of  fright;  every  newspaper 
was  filled  with  telegrams  and  long  articles.  .  .  . 

All  this  was  because  of  one  shot  from  a  fanatic, 
a  martyr  for  the  people's  rights. 

The  Empress  Elizabeth  stared  with  wide-open 
eyes  at  the  fate  that  had  overtaken  her.  Not  thus 
had  she  ever  pictured  to  herself  that  it  would  come, 
thus,  so  r.udely,  in  the  midst  of  that  festivity  and  in 
the  presence  of  their  royal  guest;  thus,  glancing  past 
her,  striking  only  her  husband  and  not  crushing 
them  all,  at  one  blow,  all  their  imperial  pride!  It 
had  come  to  pass  and  .  .  .  she  still  feared;  she  still 
went  on  fearing,  more  now  than  before:  for  her 
son!  ...  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  fearing 
for  the  first  time.  .  .  . 

It  was  the  day  before  the  funeral  of  the  Emperor 
Oscar,  when  the  Duchess  of  Xara,  now  the  young 
empress,  was  seized  with  indisposition  and  the  doc- 
tors declared  that  she  was  enceinte. 

The  emperor's  remains  had  already  been  removed 
in  great  pomp  to  Altara.  At  St.  Ladislas  the 
Altarians  were  to  see  him  lying  in  state  between 
thousands  of  flaming  candles,  with  the  brilliant  in- 
signia of  the  supreme  power  at  his  feet;  after  that 
he  was  to  be  removed  to  the  imperial  vault  in  the 
cathedral.  .  .  . 

On  that  day  too  at  Lipara,  whose  whiteness  took 


MAJESTY  321 

tones  of  sombre  twilight  beneath  mourning  decora- 
tions and  flags  flown  at  half-mast,  the  salutes  from 
Fort  Wenceslas  echoed  over  the  town,  thundering 
in  dull  tones  their  regular,  heavy,  monotonous  bom- 
bardment of  farewell.  Lonely,  majestically,  in  the 
town  resounding  with  the  salutes,  stood  the  Im- 
perial, empty,  with  its  caryatids  staring  with 
gloomy,  downcast  eyes.  The  young  emperor, 
Othomar  XII.,  was  at  Altara,  leading  the  solemn 
procession.  The  empress-mother  was  at  the  Crown 
Palace,  with  the  young  Empress  Valerie.  .  .  . 
Over  their  glamour,  still  shining,  shone  new  glam- 
ours, in  life  which  had  continued,  which  was  con- 
tinuing still.  .  .  . 

The  two  empresses  sat  side  by  side.  Valerie  held 
Elizabeth  gently  in  her  arms;  at  regular  intervals 
the  guns  boomed  from  the  fort,  through  the 
palace.  .  . 

Then  Elizabeth  drew  herself  up  painfully  from 
her  daughter-in-law's  arms  and  spoke  in  low,  oracu- 
lar tones: 

"  If  it's  a  son  ...  it  will  be  a  Duke  of  Xara. 
.  .  .  He  would  so  much  have  liked  to  see  a  Count 
of  Lycilia.  .  .  ." 

The  guns  boomed;  the  two  empresses,  in  deep 
mourning,  wept  and  sobbed.  And  now  for  the  first 
time  after  a  long  interval  —  as  there  had  also  been 
a  long  interval  at  Berengar's  death  —  Elizabeth 
realized  all  her  loss,  her  sorrow,  her  misery,  her 
despair;  and  she  felt  that  that  emperor,  to  whom, 
as  a  very  young  princess,  now  four-and-twenty  years 
ago,  she  had  been  given  in  marriage,  without  love, 


322  MAJESTY 

she  had  come  to  love  in  this  quarter  of  a  century 
of  their  life  in  common  on  his  high  pinnacle  of 
sovereignty.  .  .  . 

That  evening  Othomar  returned  and,  alone  with 
his  wife,  with  his  mother,  he  sobbed  with  them,  the 
young  emperor,  whom  no  one  had  seen  weeping  in 
the  cathedral  at  Altara.  For  the  Empress  Eliza- 
beth had  repeated  yet  once  more: 

"  If  it's  a  son  ...  it  will  be  a  Duke  of 
Xara.  .  .  ." 

And  then  the  Emperor  of  Liparia  had  lost  his 
self-restraint.  In  one  lightning-flash,  one  zig-zag 
of  terror,  he  saw  again  his  life  as  crown-prince,  he 
thought  of  his  unborn  son.  What  would  become 
of  this  child  of  fate?  Would  it  be  a  repetition  of 
himself,  of  his  hesitation,  his  melancholy  and  his 
despair? 

And  then  with  irrepressible  sobs,  suddenly  over- 
whelmed by  the  menace  of  the  future,  he  sobbed  out 
his  grief  for  his  father  who  had  been  and  his  son 
who  was  to  be !  He  sobbed,  with  his  head  in  the 
arms  of  his  young  empress,  who,  suddenly  realizing 
that  she  must  comfort  him,  had  grown  calm  and 
looked  calmly  down  upon  him,  taking  their  life  of 
majesty  upon  her  shoulders  as  though  it  were  an  op- 
pressive, heavy  mantle  of  purple  and  ermine  and  no- 
thing more,  taking  it  up  so  valiantly  because  there 
flowed  in  her  veins  as  in  his  one  single  drop  of  sacred 
golden  blood,  common  to  all  of  their  order,  their 
might  upon  earth  and  their  right  before  God.  .  .  . 


MAJESTY  323 


"  To  HER  IMPERIAL  AND  ROYAL  HIGHNESS  EUDOXIE 
"  ARCHDUCHESS  OF  AUSTRIA, 

"  SlGISMUNDINGEN. 

"  ST.  LADISLAS, 

"  ALTARA, 
"—May,  1 8— . 
"  MY  DEAR  MOTHER, 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  your  letter  pained  me. 
For  God's  sake,  do  not  excite  yourself  so  and  say 
such  terrible  things.  We  too  regretted  intensely 
that  you  could  not  be  present  at  our  coronation  and 
that  your  rheumatic  fever  obliged  you  to  remain  at 
Sigismundingen ;  but  why  need  you,  dear  mother, 
look  upon  that  fever  as  a  punishment  from  God? 
And  why  need  you  look  upon  it  as  a  punishment 
from  God  that  you  did  not  see  your  fondest  illusion 
fulfilled  and  were  not  able  to  be  present  in  our 
old  cathedral  when  Othomar,  after  being  crowned 
by  the  primate,  with  his  own  hands  crowned  me  Em- 
press of  Liparia?  You  were  not  there,  but  yet  it 
came  about:  your  illusion  is  truth,  after  all.  And 
I  tell  you  this  without  the  least,  oh,  believe  me, 
without  the  least  bitterness!  ...  A  punishment 
for  forcing  me,  against  my  will?  You  must  be  ill 
indeed,  ill  in  body  and  mind,  poor  mother,  to  be 
able  to  write  like  that:  it  makes  me  smile  a  little, 
I  no  longer  recognize  you.  And  let  my  smile  bear 
witness  that  I  am  not  unhappy:  oh,  far  from  itl 
Our  happiness  is  hardly  ever  what  we  ourselves 


324  iMAJESTY 

intend  it  to  be  and  what  we  regret  that  it  is  not.  .  .  . 

"If  you  were  to  see  me,  you  would  see  that  I  am 
not  unhappy.  It  is  May,  the  sun  is  shining,  the 
oriel-windows  are  open.  In  the  distance,  when  I 
look  out,  I  can  see  the  Zanthos  winding  away  in  a 
broad,  gleaming  expanse  of  water.  Close  by  my 
writing-table  stands  your  beautiful  big  silver  cradle ; 
and  through  the  closed  lace  curtains  I  can  see  my 
little  Duke  of  Xara  slumbering.  ...  I  don't  know 
how  to  write  all  this  to  you,  I  have  no  command 
of  words  in  which  to  express  it  fully  to  you;  but 
what  I  feel,  with  this  wide  river  landscape  before 
me  and  this  precious  little  child  by  my  side:  oh, 
mamma,  it  is  not  unhappiness!  It  is  a  feeling 
which  hides  a  great  deal  of  melancholy,  but  which 
hides  nothing  more  sombre  than  that.  And  really 
why  should  it,  in  spite  of  that  melancholy,  not  be 
even  happiness?  I  am  young,  I  am  empress  and  I 
see  life  before  me!  Round  about  me,  I  see  my 
country,  I  see  my  people:  I  want  it  to  become  the 
people  of  my  heart,  of  my  soul,  entirely.  I  don't 
yet  know  how,  but  I  want  to  live  for  this  people,  I 
want  to  live  together  with  Othomar.  Oh,  I  grant 
you,  how  I  am  to  do  that  I  don't  yet  know,  but  I 
shall  find  a  way,  together  with  him!  And,  having 
a  husband  and  a  child  and  a  people,  an  emperor, 
a  crown-prince  and  an  empire,  have  I  then  no  aim 
in  life?  And,  having  an  aim  in  life  —  and  such  a 
tremendous  aim!  —  have  I  not  then  also  happiness? 
Is  happiness  anything  other  than  to  have  found  a 
lofty,  a  noble  aim  in  life? 

"  I  am  so  anxious  to  convince  you.  And,  if  you 
saw  me  here,  at  our  quiet  St.  Ladislas,  now  that 


MAJESTY  325 

all  the  agitation  of  the  coronation-festivities  is  past, 
you  would  believe  me.  Othomar  loves  St.  Ladislas 
and  proposes  to  come  here  every  year  for  a  month 
in  the  spring.  It  is  considered  a  good  omen  that 
my  child  was  born  here,  for  you  know  the  feeling  of 
the  Liparians,  their  wish  to  see  the  crown-prince  of 
their  country  born  at  St.  Ladislas,  under  the  im- 
mediate protection  of  the  patron  saint. 

"  Othomar,  however,  is  not  here  at  the  moment: 
he  has  gone  for  a  few  days  to  Lipara  —  of  course, 
you  know  this  from  the  papers  —  and  writes  to  me 
twice  a  day.  I  asked  him  to  do  this  so  that  I  might 
be  fully  informed  as  to  his  state  of  mind.  The 
tragedy  of  his  father's  death,  the  Emperor  Oscar's 
two  days'  death-agony  affected  Othomar  so  vio- 
lently, so  violently:  my  God,  how  can- 1  find  words 
to  describe  that  terror  to  you!  How  can  I  still 
live  in  hope,  after  all  that  I  have  already  suffered 
in  my  short  life  and  seen  around  me  in  the  way  of 
terror !  And  yet,  yet  it  is  like  that,  for  youth  is  so 
strong  and  I,  I  am  strong,  I  must  be  strong.  .  .  . 

"  I  admired  my  young  emperor,  in  those  terrible 
days,  for  his  outward  calm,  through  which  the 
storm-flood  of  all  his  emotions  never  burst  loose 
before  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Directly  after  the 
funeral,  the  ceremony  of  signing  the  five  sacred 
deeds;  the  immediate  agitation  of  the  accumulated 
affairs  of  state.  ...  A  month  later,  the  new  elec- 
tions, the  constitutional  majority  in  the  house  of 
deputies,  the  resignation  of  the  ministry.  .  .  .  All 
this  you  will  have  seen  in  the  papers.  .  .  .  After 
that,  the  birth  of  our  son  and  then  our  coronation, 
at  the  moment  when  Liparia  seemed  shaken  to  its 


326  MAJESTY 

foundations !  And  now  Othomar  is  at  Lipara,  be- 
cause of  the  new  constitutional  ministry.  .  .  . 
Then  Count  Myxila,  who  does  not  agree  with  Otho- 
mar's  modern  ideas  and  who  has  even  ventured  to 
reproach  him  with  some  vehemence  for  abandoning 
all  his  father's  views  upon  government  so  shortly 
after  his  violent  death  and  who  is  now  tendering  his 
resignation.  .  .  .  Othomar  will  make  an  effort  to 
keep  him,  though  he  himself  realizes  that  it  will 
not  be  possible.  .  .  .  And  the  revision  of  the  con- 
stitution in  the  immediate  future,  with  so  many 
drastic  changes,  probably  with  the  inauguration  of 
the  upper  and  lower  chambers,  while  the  house  of 
peers  will  continue  its  outward  existence,  but  will  be 
actually  nothing  more  than  an  honorary  consulting 
body.  These  are  concessions,  if  you  will  have  it 
so,  but  then,  you  know,  Othomar  has  quite  different 
ideas  from  his  father's  and,  when  he  makes  these 
concessions,  he  undoubtedly  makes  them  to  the  past 
and  not  to  the  future  nor  to  himself.  .  .  . 

"  Life  is  cruel,  cruel  in  its  changes  and  cruel  even 
in  its  renascences;  and  for  us  rulers  all  this  is  per- 
haps even  more  cruel;  but  the  world  belongs  to  the 
future.  .  .  . 

"The  Empress  Elizabeth  is  still  here:  she  has 
suddenly  grown  so  old,  so  grey  and  very  dull  and 
depressed;  and  she  does  not  know  what  to  do: 
whether  to  remain  with  her  household  at  the  Im- 
perial, to  stay  on  here  at  St.  Ladislas,  or  to  retire 
to  Castel  Xaveria.  .  .  .  All  the  imperial  palaces 
and  castles  are  whirling  through  her  poor  head: 
her  private  properties  and  the  crown  domains;  she 
does  not  know  where  she  wants  to  go ;  we  of  course 


MAJESTY  327 

continue  to  urge  her  not  to  leave  the  Imperial:  it  is 
large  enough  to  enable  her  to  retain  almost  all  her 
own  military  and  civil  household.  .  .  . 

"  Dearest  mother,  I  will  write  to  you  again  soon: 
my  head  is  still  too  much  in  a  whirl;  I  have 
touched  on  too  many  topics;  my  woman's  brains 
are  not  capable  of  thinking  that  all  out  logically  and 
coherently  and  writing  it  down.  .  .  .  And  I  have 
only  been  empress  for  such  a  short  time  and  I  am 
only  twenty-two,  though  I  no  longer  feel  so  young. 
.  .  .  This  letter  is  but  a  hurriedly-written  reply 
to  your  doleful  self-reproach,  which  I  now  beseech 
you  in  Heaven's  name  to  put  aside  entirely.  Now 
that  I  write  this  to  you,  the  evening  of  my  betrothal- 
dinner  at  Sigismundingen  rises  before  my  mind. 
We  were  such  a  strange  engaged  couple,  Othomar 
and  I !  I  asked  him  —  smile  at  this,  mamma,  and 
don't  cry  about  it  —  whether  he  loved  anybody. 
He  said  no.  He  told  me  he  loved  his  people  and 
he  stretched  out  his  arms,  as  though  he  would  have 
embraced  them.  His  people !  The  dawn  of  a  new 
idea  —  old  no  doubt  to  thousands  and  ages  old,  but 
new  to  me,  as  a  new  day  is  new  —  shone  out  before 
me,  threw  light  over  my  gloomy  sufferings,  bright- 
ened a  road  before  me.  .  .  . 

"  That  road,  mamma,  I  now  see  stretching  be- 
fore me  clearer  and  clearer  every  day;  and  I  mean 
to  follow  it  with  my  husband  and  my  child,  with 
my  emperor  and  my  crown-prince  .  .  .  my  crown- 
prince,  who  is  waking  and  crying  for  me! 

"  May  God  grant  me  strength,  mamma ! 

"  VALERIE." 
THE  END 


c 


PT 
5825 

M28E5 


A   —  -"•       •  II I  I  I  II  I  I  I 
001  001  650  9 


